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BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR. 


They  All  Do  It; 


Or,  Mr.  Miggs  of  Dancury,  and  His  Neighbors.      i6mo. 
Illustxated.      Cloth,  $i.oo.      Paper,  50  cents. 


Life  in  Danbury. 

Being  a  Brief  but  Comprehensive  Record  of  the  Doings  of  a 

Remarkable  People.     i6mo.     Illustrated.    Cloth,  $1.00. 

Paper,  50  cents. 


LEE  &>  SHEPARD,  PUBLISHERS, 
BOSTON. 


England  from  a  back-Window, 


VIEWS  OF  SCOTLAND  AND  IRELAND. 


J.    M.    BAILEY, 

THE     DANBURY-NEWS     MAN. 


BOSTON: 
LEE   AND   SHEPARD,  PUBLISHERS. 

NEW  YORK: 
CHARLES   T.  DILLINGHAM. 

1S79. 


B(9  55 

Ra4 


Copyright,  1878, 

BY  LEE  AND  SHEPARD. 

All  rights  reserved. 


<'  ?m/  e.  A-  ^'^^ 


Electroty(>fd  and  Printed 

By  Rand,  Avery,  &•  Comf>any, 

ilj  Franklin  Street, 

Boston. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  In  which'  the  Writer  departs  for  Europe     .    .  7 

II.  Which  relates  to  the  Arrival  in  Europe.    .    .  13 

III.  Gives  a  First  View  of  London 17 

IV.  Relates  entirely  to  the  Beauty  of  England     .  23 
V.  Gives  More  Details  of  London 33 

VI.  Gives  an  Off-Hand  View  of  Parliament     ...  43 

VII.  An  English  Mob 49 

VIII.  Is    mainly  devoted  to    describing  how  to  get 

ABOUT  London  .....    54 

IX.  Living  in  London 59 

X.  Going  to  the  Derby 64 

XI.  Street-Scenes 77 

XII.  In  the  Mildew 87 

XIII.  Treats  of  the  Bars  and  Bar-Maids 99 

XIV.  Moth,  Mildew,  and  Martyrs no 

XV.  A  Ramble  over  London 120 

XVI.  Through  Petticoat  Lane 133 

XVII.  The  Wonderful  English  Railways 140 

XVIII.  Which  gives  a  Dash  into  Rural  England  ...  153 

XIX.  Brings  us  to  English  Farm-Life 164 

XX.  More  about  the  Farm 172 

XXI.  A  General  Attack  on  Ruins 181 

XXII.  English  Charity 192 

XXIII.  Amusements 198 

XXIV.  Tells,  among  Other  Things,  what  the  English 

think  of  Us 205 

XXV.  An  Appalling  Custom 214 

XXVI.  Skips  from  the  Cab  to  the  Hearse 224 

Mill  466 


6  CONTENTS. 

CHATTER  PAGE 

XXVII.  In  a  Grocer's  Cellar 226 

XXVIII.  The  Home  of  Bunyan 235 

XXIX.  In  which  Shakspeare  is  shown  up 240 

XXX.  Gives   a    Few  of   the    Peculiarities    of   an 

English  Winter 24S 

XXXI.  Full  of  Extraordinary  Facts 255 

XXXII.  Brings  us  into  Scotland 264 

XXXIII.  Edinburgh  still  further  considered.    ...  275 

XXXIV.  Scudding  through  the  Highlands 2S6 

XXXV.  A  Ruined  Upburst 294 

XXXVI.  Highland  Features 303 

XXXVII.  Elgin  and  its  Sights .  315 

XXXVIII.  Throwing  the  Caber 321 

XXXIX.  A  JuMPiNG-oFF  Luxury 331 

XL.  Astonishing  Facts  about  Wages 336 

XLI.  A  Sample  of  the  Good  Old  Times 344 

XLII.  The  Terrors  of  a  Jaunting-Car 353 

XLIII.  Doing  the  Causeway,  and  McDooley     .    .    .  363 

XLIV.  Getting  on  the  Wall 374 

XLV.  A  Meditative  Pennsylvanian 3S0 

XLVI.  An  Ancient  Candy-Pull 3S8 

XLVII.  Going  to  an  Irish  Fair 401 

XLVIII.  Owning  a  Whole  Gr-(Vveyard 414 

XLIX.  Starting  for  America 420 

L.  A  Treatise  on  Limerick' 424 

LI.  Blaspheming  Mendicants 430 

LII.  Scenery  and  Lies 440 

LIII.  A  Newly-arrived  Yankee 448 

LIV.  Across  the  Country  in  a  Mail-Cart  ....  456 

LV.  Peculiar  Features  in  Dublin 461 

LVI.  In    which   the  Writer   takes  Leave  of   his 

Readers  and  a  Good  Share  of  Himself  .  471 


ENGLAND  FROM  A  BACK-WINDOW. 


CHAPTIiK    L-  -      ■  •  '\r'  ° 

m  WHICH   THE  WRITER   DEPARTS   FOR   EUROPE. 

THERE  was  nothing  particularly  attractive  about  "  The 
Abyssinia"  as  we  came  in  sight  of  it  at  the  Jersey-city 
dock  on  the  afternoon  of  April  15,  1874.  We  saw  before 
us  a  long,  narrow,  dingy  black  craft,  with  a  formidable 
smoke-stack  in  the  middle,  three  aspiring  masts,  staring 
dead-lights,  and  a  forlorn  and  very  uncomfortable  air  about 
all.  It  stood  so  far  out  of  water  as  to  actually  need  the 
huge  hawsers  holding  it  at  the  dock  to  keep  it  from  tipping 
over  where  it  was.  It  seemed  as  if  the  great  city  had 
slopped  over  into  "  The  Abyssinia,"  because  of  the  threatened 
rain.  The  passage-ways,  decks,  and  staircases  were  crowd- 
ed with  people ;  and  such  anxious,  struggling,  crowding 
people  !  I  never  before  saw  so  ostentatious  a  crowd.  We 
got  into  the  wrong  passage,  of  course,  and  climbed  over  a 
platform,  and  met  some  half-dozen  people  climbing  the 
other  way.  But  everybody  was  good-natured  and  bruised. 
Finally  we  reached  our  stateroom,  and  deposited  the  lug- 
gage. From  here  we  went  on  deck,  the  passage  up  the- 
stairway  being  a  continuous  struggle.  Out  doors  was  as 
crowded  as  in.  Scores  of  people  with  bouquets  and  um- 
brellas blocked  up  every  passage.     No  one  of  the  passengers 

7 


8  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

knew  any  thing  of  the  ins  and  outs  of  the  boat,  and  the 
visitors  were  equally  as  ignorant.  On  the  pier  was  scarcely 
less  confusion  of  ideas  and  legs,  as  we  could  see  from  the 
deck.  To  make  matters  worse,  it  commenced  to  rain. 
Everybody  hurried  down  stairs ;  but  the  close  air  drove  the 
greater  part  of  them  back  again.  Then  came  the  signal  for 
departure,  followed  by  a  desperate  rush  together  of  the  con- 
tending "forces,  Tr-;-v)site{i  and  visitors.  Elderly  gentlemen, 
with-long  urtbrc^lfes  and  high  silk  hats,  were  carried  off  their 
feet,  ,ind  jammed  against  total  strangers.  Fat  women,  with 
-the  latest  style' of  spring  bonnets  on  their  heads,  and  huge 
bouquets  of  flowers  in  their  chubby  hands,  were  kissed  by 
the  wrong  parties,  and  squeezed  into  grotesque  shapes  by 
enthusiastic  relatives. 

It  was  the  first  time  I  was  ever  kissed  on  the  tip  end  of 
my  nose ;  and  I  can't  say  that  the  sensation  is  an  enjoyable 
one,  especially  if  administered  by  a  stranger  with  a  solitary 
and  aggressive  front-tooth. 

At  last  the  boat  was  being  swung  off.  The  last  hand  and 
lip  i)ressure  was  made.  A  tall,  thin  gentleman  took  a  final 
hurried  kiss,  knocked  off  his  hat,  and  stepped  through  the 
crown  of  it,  and  shot  up  the  gang-plank.  The  people  on 
the  pier  swung  their  handkerchiefs,  and  hallooed  their  fare- 
wells, while  the  vessel  gracefully  backed  off  into  the  channel, 
and  —  was  ignominiously  towed  seaward  by  a  black  and  dis- 
reputable looking  tug. 

And  thus  we  left  the  dear  land,  standing  on  the  deck,  with 
the  breaking  clouds  and  struggling  sunlight  above  us,  and 
straining  our  eyes  toward  the  fast-receding  city. 

After  dinner  the  thoughtfiil  arranged  their  staterooms  for 
a  ten-days'  occupancy ;  while  the  thoughtless  crowded  upon 
deck,  and  amused  themselves  in  looking  at  the  stars,  and 
watching  the  water,  or  peering  about  the  shij),  and  incau- 
tiously feeling  of  strange-looking  ])ii)es  whii  h  were  subse- 
quently discovered  to  contain  hot  water. 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  9 

There  were  no  violent  demonstrations  toward  acquaint- 
ance, unless  we  may  except  the  long  man  in  long  overcoat, 
a  dilapidated  hat,  and  long  chin-whiskers,  who,  having  made 
t^venty  voyages  across  the  ocean,  and  been  spared  by  an 
inscrutable  Providence  to  start  on  the  tvventy-first,  was  now 
enlightening  all  on  board  on  such  points  as  the  weather,  the 
sails,  the  course,  and  the  prospects. 

There  was  a  lazy  swell  to  the  ocean,  which  gave  the  vessel 
a  graceful,  rolling  motion  that  was  much  admired. 

The  length  of  admiration  varied  with  the  strength  of  the 
constitution  of  the  admirers.  When  a  man  got  his  fill  of 
admiration  he  made  for  the  rail  precipitately,  and  cast  his 
bread  upon  the  waters,  neither  hoping  nor  caring  for  a 
return.  A  visible  thinness  in  the  congregation  was  painfully 
conspicuous ;  and,  by  the  time  all  the  stars  were  out,  the 
deck  was  cleared  for  action.  Some  lingered  to  see  the  stars ; 
lingered  to  gaze  dreamily  into  the  dark  blue  waters ;  then 
they  shot  doAvn  stairs,  and  screamed  for  a  basin. 

There  was  a  fair  sprinkling  of  passengers  on  deck  the 
next  day ;  for,  although  not  a  calm  day,  it  was  nevertheless 
pleasant,  and  the  sea  was  not  rough.  Those  who  were  not 
affected  kept  well  on  their  legs,  and  alternated  a  look  sea- 
ward with  a  scrutiny  of  the  private  property  of  the  vessel. 
Of  those  affected,  a  few  had  the  good  sense  to  remain  on 
deck,  and  "  fire  away  "  at  the  waves ;  but  much  the  greater 
number  went  below,  and,  locking  their  staterooms,  wrestled 
alone  with  the  great  agony.  As  they  convalesced,  they, 
with  few  exceptions,  returned  to  the  deck ;  every  day  bring- 
ing new  additions  to  the  sitters  and  promenaders.  But  many 
kept  to  their  rooms  during  the  entire  trip.  It  is  the  nature 
of  the  disease  to  allay  the  thirst  for  sight-seeing ;  and  it  is 
only  by  a  great  effort  of  the  will  that  the  victims  can  over- 
come the  inertia,  and  keep  on  deck. 

The  terrors  of  seasickness  may  be  modified  by  keeping 
a  well-ordered   stomach   on   the   day  of  sailing.     Bidding 


lO  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

champagne  farewells  and  whiskey-punch  adieus  to  friends  at 
home  is  a  sure  forerunner  of  the  sickness  in  its  worst 
form.  There  was  the  case  of  young  Munson  of  Danbury, 
who  went  to  Europe  last  season.  Bom  of  Puritan  ]jarents, 
and  reared  amid  the  refining  and  wholesome  influences  of 
a  New-England  home,  he  carefully  dieted  himself  the  week 
before  sailing.  He  ate  freely  of  oatmeal  and  bran  bread, 
and  eschewed  greasy  food  and  stimulating  drinks.  The 
night  before  sailing  he  went  down  to  New  York  in  the  flush 
of  health  and  hope,  and,  stopping  at  Nonvalk  to  a  clam-bake, 
filled  up  with  roast  clams  and  gin,  getting  down  to  the  city 
just  in  time  to  take  the  boat.  For  three  days  he  pranced 
around  on  the  edge  of  eternity,  kicking  up  his  heels,  swing- 
ing his  arms,  and  turning  himself  inside  out  in  a  most  repre- 
hensible manner.  He  held  then  a  position  in  the  Third 
National  Bank ;  but,  on  returning  home,  he  did  not  report 
for  duty  for  a  whole  week,  fearing  that,  among  other  things, 
he  had  thrown  up  this  berth. 

None  of  the  officers  of  "  The  Abyssinia "  lost  a  day 
through  seasickness. 

The  second  day  was  much  like  the  first,  with  the  excep- 
tion that  it  grew  cooler  at  night.  On  the  morning  of  the 
third  day  it  rained,  and  the  rolling  motion  increased.  The 
wind  was  fickle,  and  the  sailors  were  kept  busy  with  the  sails. 
To  see  them  climbing  the  dizzy  heights  of  the  masts,  with 
the  rain  pouring  down  upon  them  (for  they  are  not  per- 
mitted to  carry  umbrellas),  made  a  most  thrilling  spectacle. 
The  fourth  day  was  equally  unpleasant.  On  the  fifth,  sixth, 
seventh,  and  eighth  days  the  vessel  rolled  from  side  to  side 
without  intermission,  the  wind  blew  stiflly  across  the  beam 
(coming  from  the  starboard  side,  wherever  that  is),  and  the 
rain  and  flying  sjiray  kept  the  deck  comparatively  free  of 
people.  Of  those  who  ventureil  up  stairs  during  this  con- 
tinuous and  disagreeable  siege,  the  ladies  huildled  into  the 
cabin  on  deck  provided  for  them  ;  the  gentlemen  took  to 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  II 

the  smoking-cabin,  also  on  deck,  or  sheltered  diemsclvcs  in 
the  lee  of  the  smoke-stack.  This  last  place  was  a  favorite 
resort  for  the  steerage  passengers,  who,  chewing  plug  tobacco, 
and  spitting  against  the  wind,  added  a  charm  to  the  occa- 
sion that  was  indescribable. 

The  smoking-cabin  is  the  best  patronized.  Here  the  pas- 
sengers of  sporting  tendencies  gather  to  buy  and  sell  pools 
on  the  time  the  vessel  makes  in  the  twenty-four  hours ;  and 
here  is  done  some  of  the  proudest  and  grandest  lying  ever 
heard.  It  is  astonishing  the  amount  of  extraordinary  facts 
an  idle  brain  will  evolve. 

No  pen  can  do  justice  to  the  suffering  entailed  by  the 
rolling  motion  of  the  vessel.  On  the  wet  deck  it  is  impos- 
sible to  move  any  distance,  or  to  stand  still  a  moment,  with- 
out grasping  a  rope  or  guard.  At  the  dining-table  the  crash 
of  rolling  and  sliding  dishes,  and  the  splashing  of  their  spill- 
ing contents,  is  deafening  and  disheartening.  The  stewards 
and  waiters  walk  on  the  sides  of  their  feet,  and  plank  down 
the  right  dish  in  the  right  place  with  a  precision  that  is 
supernatural.  Each  of  the  eight  tables  is  provided  with 
racks,  which  keep  the  plates  from  sliding  way  across,  but  do 
not  always  prevent  their  coming  together,  and  depositing 
in  one's  lap  a  pleasing  variety  of  soups,  ice-water,  and  hot 
gravies.  But  in  the  staterooms  the  greatest  misery  is  expe- 
rienced. A  stateroom  has  no  free  walls.  Opposite  the  two 
berths  is  a  lounge,  which  can  be  made  into  a  third  berth. 
To  sit  on  this  lounge,  and  to  be  thrown  to  the  opposite  side, 
with  the  skin  of  your  advanced  leg  scraping  the  under  edge 
of  the  lower  berth,  and  your  head  smashing  against  the  up- 
per berth,  is  a  sensation  I  have  experienced  about  eleven 
hundred  times  in  the  past  week.  When  I  went  alone,  I 
didn't  mind  it  so  much  ;  but  to  have  Mrs.  Bailey  avalanche 
atop  of  me,  and  with  her  weight  increase  my  momentum, 
has  almost  made  me  swear.  Any  boy  who  is  striving  for  a 
prize  on  the  grounds  of  a  strictly  upright  life  should  forego 


12  ENGLAND    FROM   A    BACK-WINDOW. 

the  pleasure  of  seeing  Europe   until  after  he   has  got  his 
prize. 

And  so  we  have  been  tossed  about,  and  bumped  and 
bruised,  for  seven  long  days  and  nights,  until  every  bone 
aches,  and  every  muscle  is  stretched  to  its  utmost  tension,  in 
tlie  constant  effort  to  maintain  a  balance.  Five  times  have 
I  gone  into  my  stateroom  and  found  Mrs.  Bailey  wedged 
under  the  lower  berth,  where  she  had  been  thrown  by  a  sud- 
den lurch  of  the  vessel ;  and  for  two  hours  after  each  occa- 
sion she  refused  to  speak.  This  is  rather  remarkable,  I 
believe  —  in  a  woman. 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  1 3 


CHAPTER  11. 

WHICH   RELATES  TO  THE  ARRIVAL   IN   EUROPE. 

THE  last  day  of  a  long  ocean-voyage  is  signalled  by 
feverish  expectation.  I  shall  never  forget  the  night 
before  our  arrival  at  Queenstown.  We  had  expected  to 
sight  land  all  the  afternoon ;  and,  as  night  closed  upon  us, 
each  one  on  deck  strained  his  eyes  in  the  direction  he  had 
decided  land  should  appear. 

Then  the  wind  changed  to  the  head :  all  the  sails  were 
taken  indoors,  and  we  steamed  through  the  rolling  seas  and 
an  intense  fog.  It  was  an  excitable  evening  to  the  passen- 
gers ;  and  I  imagine  the  fog  and  the  proximity  of  a  danger- 
ous coast  made  the  sail-  a  matter  of  interest  to  the  boat 
people.  With  a  few  others  I  remained  on  deck  till  after 
midnight,  hanging  on  to  the  sails  and  ropes,  or  breaking 
some  of  my  bones  against  things  I  didn't  know  the  name  of. 

In  the  morning  I  awoke  to  find  the  vessel  in  a  still  sea. 
It  was  a  still  sea ;  but  there  was  no  land  in  sight.  The  vessel 
had  stopped,  and  the  fog  permitted  us  to  see  several  small 
pilot-boats  about  us. 

There  was  an  animated  conversation  going  on  between 
Capt.  Haines  of  "  The  Abyssinia,"  and  a  short-necked,  red- 
faced  scoundrel  in  the  pilot-boat  near  us.  The  pilot-boat 
had  given  us  its  rope,  but  was  afraid  to  come  up  alongside, 
under  the  impression  that  the  ponderous  "  Abyssinia  "  might 
step  on  it.    The  morning  air  was  rent  by  the  contending 


14        ENGLAND  FROM  A  RACK-WINDOW. 

voices  ;  and,  as  neither  party  appeared  to  know  what  the  other 
was  saying  (which  is  really  not  necessary  in  this  country), 
an  indescribable  charm  was  added  to  the  scene. 

The  pilot  finally  consented  to  be  drawn  aboard  of  our 
boat,  and  we  steamed  away  again.  Then  we  went  down 
stairs  to  breakfast,  and  discussed  the  probabilities  of  the 
landing  with  an  excellent  bill -of- fare.  After  breakfast  we 
went  back  to  the  deck,  and  were  almost  immediately  elec- 
trified by  the  bold  outlands  of  Queenstown  Harbor.  We 
could  see  the  green  fields,  the  earthworks,  the  hedges,  and 
the  trees.  Every  object  that  went  to  make  up  the  dear 
sight  was  scrutinized  most  intensely. 

We  moved  by  aitd  into  the  bay ;  but  none  of  us  took  our 
eyes  from  the  land  one  instant. 

There  had  been  a  time  when  it  had  seemed  that  the  waste 
of  troubled  waters  was  to  forever  accompany  us ;  that  the 
land  which  we  had  so  gladly  left  was  never  again  to  greet 
our  sight. 

But  here  was  the  glad  earth  before  us ;  not  a  myth,  not  a 
dream,  but  the  dear,  solid  land,  with  its  cobble-stones,  pitch- 
holes,  and  fever  and  ague. 

Not  a  living  soul  on  board  of  that  vessel  thought  to  in- 
quire what  kind  of  land  it  was. 

I  was  glad  of  it. , 

The  custom-house  tender  came  out  from  Queenstown  to 
meet  us,  and  took  the  mails  and  several  passengers  and  their 
luggage.  This  was  the  first  perceptible  fracture  in  the  social 
fabric  nine  days  of  sea-life  had  reared. 

Next  to  a  sight  of  land,  the  greatest  surprise  was  the  sud- 
den appearance  of  the  male  passengers  in  high  silk  hats. 
To  have  men,  whom  you  have  seen  every  day,  and  every  hour 
of  the  day,  for  ten  days,  in  low  cai)s  or  rumjiled  soft  hats, 
apiK-ar  in  high  hats,  is  to  work  a  transformation  that  is  most 
exciting.  I  haven't  had  any  thing  work  me  up  to  such  a 
degree  since  the  surrender  of  Cornwallis. 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  1 5 

Singularly  enough,  although  we  had  made  the  acquaint- 
ance of  these  people  within  a  week,  and  had  no  reasonable 
prospect  of  ever  seeing  or  having  any  thing  to  do  with 
them  in  the  future,  and  knew  nothing  whatever  of  their  past, 
there  was  a  twinge  of  regret  at  their  going.  We  looked 
over  the  boat  at  them  as  they  took  their  departure,  and 
waved  what  was  handy  as  long  as  they  were  in  sight ;  and 
then  we  moved  on  to  Liverpool. 

In  the  evening,  with  the  fog  and  moonlight  struggling  in 
the  air,  we  promenaded  the  deck,  sang  our  songs,  told  over 
our  plans,  and  dreaded  the  morrow,  —  the  morrow  that  was 
to  break  us  up,  and  scatter  us  all  over  a  continent. 

One  of  the  sad  episodes  of  the  evening  was  my  borrowing 
a  knife  from  a  smoker  of  plug  tobacco  to  peel  an  orange  for 
one  of  the  ladies. 

At  six  o'clock  the  next  morning  we  reached  the  harbor  of 
Liverpool.  ~ 

Two  custom-house  boats  came  off  for  the  luggage  and 
passengers.  The  former  was  taken  into  the  lower  cabin,  and 
the  latter  followed  after,  —  both  for  inspection.  I  had  heard 
of  the  custom  inspection  at  foreign  ports,  and  had  come  to 
have  a  wholesome  dread  of  the  ordeal.  I  hurried  down  the 
—  the  —  the  companion-way,  I  believe  they  call  it,  with  a 
hundred  others,  and  waited  and  watched  while  the  uni- 
formed posse  went  about  among  the  packages,  scrutinizing 
the  contents  or  the  owners.  A  New- York  friend,  wth  his 
OAvn  and  the  luggage  of  several  lady-friends,  passed  safely 
through  the  examination  in  five  minutes  after  the  beginning, 
and  was  up  on  deck,  looking  for  a  light,  inside  of  another 
minute.  Being  open  to  hints,  and  finding  the  dingy  dark- 
ness and  the  crowded  condition  of  the  lower  cabin  unbeara- 
ble, I  slipped  a  shilling  into  the  hand  of  one  of  the  inquisi- 
tors ;  and  a  moment  later  my  luggage  was  passed,  and  I  was 
also  on  the  deck,  looking  for  a  light. 

From  "  The  Abyssinia  "  we  were  transferred  to  the  tender ; 


1 6  ENGLAND   FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

and  a  half-hour  later  were  deposited  on  land,  which  we 
pressed  most  affectionately  with  our  feet. 

It  was  Sunday,  and  the  city  was  very  quiet.  As  we  drove 
through  its  streets,  we  watched  each  building  and  face  with  a 
fervor  that  was  complimentary  to  the  former,  but  was  hardly 
enjoyable  to  the  latter. 

We  never  hear  of  Liverpool  unless  in  connection  with  com- 
merce of  a  cosmopoHtan  character.  It  has  no  specialty  in 
trade  to  fasten  it  on  the  mind  of  the  general  reader ;  it  has 
no  antiquities ;  it  has  no  history.  There  is  nothing  about 
this  place  in  common  with  the  country  of  which  it  forms  a 
part ;  and  to  the  tourist  it  is  simply  a  landing-place. 


ENGLAND  FROM  A  BACK-WINDOW,        1/ 


CHAPTER  III. 

GIVES   A   FIRST   VIEW   OF   LONDON, 

THAT  London  differs  in  all  important  and  in  many 
unimportant  features  from  the  metropolis  of  Ameri- 
ca is  a  fact  that  grows  upon  the  visitor,  and  the  degree  of 
his  sense  of  the  fact  is  proportionate  to  his  stay  in  the  city. 
This  impression  would  be  received  the  moment  he  drove 
through  its  streets,  if  he  came  direct  from  New  York  to  it ; 
but  he  first  lands  at  an  English-American  town,  where  the 
contrasts  so  blend,  that  the  distinguishing  lines  are  dulled  to 
his  comprehension.  He  approaches  London's  characteris- 
tics through  a  gradation  of  sensations ;  and,  on  his  arrival  in 
the  great  metropolis,  the  only  feeling  of  surprise  he  experi- 
ences is  at  the  absence  of  all  surprise. 

If  he  is  a  close  reader  of  history,  he  has  already  formed  in 
his  mind  how  London  should  look.  He  understands  that 
Liverpool  is  essentially  cosmopolite  ;  and  the  small  shock  he 
feels  on  arriving  there  in  no  way  affects  his  picture  of  Lon- 
don, —  a  city  (and  he  repeats  the  reflection  with  unction) 
that  is  one  of  the  oldest  in  existence. 

When  he  reaches  London  he  is  annoyed,  as  the  promi- 
nence of  its  modern  completely  hides  the  vestiges  of  its 
ancient  or  historical  features. 

London,  like  Liverpool,  is  built  of  brick,  —  the  same  kind 
of  brick  too,  only  a  trifle  dingier  if  possible,  —  not  the  red 
brick  we  have  in  America,  although  that  is  profusely  used  in 


1 8  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

the  country  mansions,  but  a  dull  brown  or  yellow  brick. 
The  most  of  them  are  mottled  with  these  two  tints ;  but 
many  are  wholly  yellow,  or  wholly  browTi. 

In  a  new  building  the  effect  is  more  curious  than  grati- 
fying ;  but  a  few  months  of  the  smoke  they  have  here  es- 
tablishes a  uniform  tint. 

An  American  is  in  time  overpowered  by  the  lack  of  archi- 
tectural adornment  in  the  buildings,  and  the  consequent 
uniformity  in  their  construction.  The  lack  of  variety  and 
beauty  is  just  as  conspicuous  in  the  streets  devoted  to  the 
dwellings  of  the  aristocracy  as  in  the  lanes  of  the  working- 
people. 

Buckingham  Palace,  the  residence  of  the  Queen,  is  an 
immense  building,  but  not  especially  attractive  in  its  ex- 
terior. 

Marlborough  House,  the  home  of  the  Prince  of  Wales,  is 
a  red  brick  structure  ;  large,  but  in  no  wise  remarkable,  not 
even  as  a  bonded-warehouse  in  New  York. 

I  have  seen  a  host  of  finer  railroad  depot-buildings  than 
is  St.  James's  Palace. 

I  have  always  had  my  own  ideas  of  a  palace.  Probably 
they  corresponded  with  the  ideas  of  others,  and  possibly 
they  did  not ;  but  they  rose  immeasurably  above  square 
three-story  buildings  with  flat  roofs. 

Reading  of  palaces  has  lost  its  charm  for  me  forever. 

Those  of  the  houses  which  are  not  of  flat  surface  are  of 
crescent-shaped  front.  All  the  roofs  are  of  tile  or  lead. 
There  are  no  shingle  roofs  to  rot  away  and  leak,  and  make 
the  owner  swear ;  and  no  tin  roofs  to  turn  the  sunshine  into 
a  curse  and  annoyance,  or  keep  you  awake  when  it  rains, 
thinking  of  tinker's  dams. 

But  the  array  of  chimney-pots  is  calculated  to  absorl)  and 
astonish  the  stranger.  In  this  department  the  ICnglish 
excel,  and  whatever  of  money  or  taste  they  have  to  spare 
is  lavished    on    chimney-puts.       Kach  chimney  has  two   or 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  IQ 

more.  They  are  of  red,  black,  and  white  colors.  They  are 
made  of  the  tile  clay,  and  in  variety  of  shapes  are  equal  to 
the  idiosyncrasies  of  a  stove-pipe.  They  are  all  the  way 
from  two  feet  to  ten  feet  in  height.  No  family  is  without 
them. 

The  front-door  to  every  house  has  its  letter-box.  Nearly 
all  of  the  doors  are  closed  by  spring-locks ;  and,  in  conse- 
quence, catching  tlte  skirts  of  your  coat  in  the  door  in  pass- 
ing out  is  a  most  embarrassing  proceeding,  especially  if  the 
street  is  very  public,  and  the  housekeeper  very  deaf. 

I  speak  from  experience. 

I  would  respectfully  call  the  attention  of  the  American 
people  to  the  fact  that  the  knob  is  in  the  middle  of  the  front- 
door. It  is  a  stationary  knob,  and  is  valueless  as  a  means 
of  entrance,  but  is  a  comforting  article  to  hold  on  to  when 
immersed  in  thought.  A  man  rarely  attempts  a  second  time 
to  use  it  for  any  other  purpose. 

Each  front-door  has  a  knocker,  generally  of  iron,  and 
quite  frequently  large  enough  to  carry  a  boy  into  a  circus,  or 
buy  five  packs  of  fire-crackers.  In  addition  to  the  knocker 
are  two  or  more  bells,  the  number  depending  upon  the  num- 
ber of  tenants  in  the  building.  In  such  neighborhoods  as 
that  of  the  Seven  Dials  there  are  four-story  buildings  (for- 
merly tenements) ,  occupied  by  attorneys,  undertakers,  work- 
ers in  metals,  and  other  people,  which  have  seven  bells  to 
the  door.  Those  who  can  afford  it  have  their  names  on  a 
little  brass  plate  to  their  bells,  and  their  customers  have  no 
trouble. 

Where  opulence  does  not  reign,  the  customer  has  an 
opportunity  of  trying  all  the  bells,  and  bringing  a  variety  of 
people  down  stairs  before  he  hits  on  the  right  man. 

This  can  never  fail  to  improve  the  most  indifferent  mind. 

Each  door  is  not  only  always  kept  locked,  but  has  its 
chain.  You  remember,  of  course,  of  "  the  clanking  chain  as 
the  ponderous  door  swung  open,  revealing  a  dark,  crouching 


20  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

figure,"  &c.  The  chain  is  a  chain  without  doubt,  hanging 
listlessly  down  the  door-casing,  but  looking  as  little  like  clank- 
ing as  a  pint  of  soup. 

There  are  no  window-blinds  to  the  dwellings  of  London  ; 
but  there  is  a  profusion  of  lace  curtains.  It  is  a  sad  thing 
to  think  of  a  city  of  nearly  four  million  people  being  window- 
blindless ;  but  the  curtains  permit  one  to  look  out  and  see 
what  the  neighbor  across  the  way  has  on,  with  a  feeling  of 
comparative  comfort  and  safety. 

The  shops  fairly  boil  over  with  plate  glass  fronts.  They 
are  not  roomy  nor  elaborate  inside  ;  but  their  windows  make 
the  finest  show  of  any  shop-windows  in  the  world.  They  are 
ablaze  with  goods  arranged  in  most  tempting  ways.  I  came 
near  to  saying  they  are  ablaze  \\ith  light ;  but  the  better  class 
of  shops  are  not  lighted  at  all  just  now,  closing  right  after 
seven  o'clock  in  the  evening,  thus  giving  the  hard-worked 
clerks  plenty  of  time  to  store  their  minds  with  theatricals 
and  punch.  The  shops  on  the  Strand  and  similar  second- 
class  avenues  blaze  away  until  nine  o'clock.  The  cigar-shops, 
chop-houses,  and  many  of  the  fish-markets,  keep  going  all 
the  while,  I  guess,  as  I  have  found  them  open,  and  inclined 
to  be  sociable,  as  late  as  an  hour  after  midnight ;  and  a  man 
who  doesn't  shut  up  business  at  midnight  will  never  get 
another  such  opportunity. 

I  have  said  the  shops  close  early.  It  is  a  lamentable  fact 
in  this  connection,  that  they  do  not  open  early.  Go  along 
any  of  the  business-streets  as  late  as  ten  o'clock,  and  you 
will  find  men  and  boys  with  coarse  aprons  before  the  shops, 
burnishing  the  brass  plates,  scouring  the  stone  sills,  and 
sweeping  the  walks  ;  and,  as  late  as  eleven  o'clock,  the  clerks 
and  proprietors  are  arranging  the  goods  for  the  day's  display. 

Every  other  store  prominently  announces  the  fact  that  it 
is  doing  business  by  "  sjjecial  appointment  to  H.  M.  the 
Queen,"  or  "to  H.  R.  H.  the  Prince  of  Wales." 

Feeling  an  unquenchable  longing  one  afternoon  to  see 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  21 

the  Queen,  I  stepped  into  a  shoe-store  which  announced 
itself  as  attending  to  her  shodding,  and  waited  very  patiently 
for  an  hour  for  her  to  call  in  "  to  see  if  that  shoe  was  fixed  ; " 
but  I  did  not  see  her.  "  By  special  appointment,"  &c.,  has 
stared  me  in  the  face  at  every  turn ;  but  I  bore  it  uncom- 
plainingly until  I  saw  over  a  stovepipe-hat-store  the  announce- 
ment, "  By  special  appointment  to  H.  M.  the  Queen."    ' 

Then  I  caved. 

By  a  careful  and  unbiassed  calculation,  I  learn  that  there 
are  at  present,  administering  to  the  various  needs  of  Queen 
Victoria,  ii,ooo  grocers,  2,150  stationers,  8,093  dry-goods 
merchants,  1,608  tinners,  16,040  butchers,  1,100  jewellers, 
3,840  tobacconists,  243  hatters,  1,240  carriage-makers, 
26,432    miscellaneous. 

No  wonder  the  country  is  in  debt.  But  business  is  stimu- 
lated. 

London  is  called  a  dingy  and  dirty  city.  The  houses  in 
London  are  dull  in  appearance,  made  so  by  the  smoke  from 
its  thousands  and  thousands  of  chimneys.  The  humidity 
and  weight  of  the  atmosphere  keep  down  the  smoke  among 
the  buildings ;  and  the  smoke  itself  is  most  villanous  in  its 
nature,  coming  from  a  soft  coal  which  is  burned  here,  and 
which  is  similar  to  the  coal  used  by  our  blacksmiths.  Dingy 
seems  a  little  too  strong  a  term ;  but  dirty  is  an  emphatic 
lie. 

London  is  far  ahead  of  New  York  in  cleanliness ;  and, 
were  its  buildings  of  the  same  cheerful  hue  as  are  those  of 
New  York,  it  would  be  called  just  what  it  is,  —  a  marvellously 
clean  city. 

Its  streets  are  not  altogether  broad  or  straight ;  but  they 
are  well  paved.  And  yet  that  hardly  gives  you  an  idea  of 
their  excellent  condition.  But,  when  I  say  well  paved,  I 
mean,  in  this  connection,  that  they  are  as  smooth  as  a  floor, 
as  hard  as  marble,  as  free  of  ruts  as  the  brow  of  Venus,  and 
as  clear  of  filth  as  is  the  character  of  an  honest  man.     The 


22  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

system  of  sewerage  is  perfect,  or,  at  least,  it  works  to  the 
satisfaction  of  everybody ;  and  that,  I  take  it,  is  perfection, 
or  a  very  good  substitute  for  it. 

In  addition,  they  are  well  lighted.  In  the  more  important 
thoroughfares  a  line  of  lights  extends  through  the  middle  of 
the  street,  with  a  stone-post-guarded  enclosure  about  each 
lamp,  —  a  sort  of  temporary  city  of  refuge  for  the  pedestrian 
who  is  fleeing  before  the  impetuosity  of  the  hurrying  teams. 

And  then  there  is  a  policeman  at  every  important  crossing, 
who  stands  among  the  crowding  and  struggling  cabs,  'buses, 
and  drays,  like  —  like  (I  forget  the  god's  name)  among 
the  driving  elements,  and  brings  order  and  females  out  of 
chaos  with  a  despatch  that  is  most  commendable. 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  23 


CHAPTER   IV. 

RELATES  ENTIRELY  TO  THE  BEAUTY  OF  ENGLAND. 

THE  glory  of  England  is  its  country.  A  grander  scene 
than  an  English  landscape  cannot  be  found  from  sun- 
rise to  sunset.  Its  wonderful  turf,  which  is  everywhere,  its 
fine  variety  of  hill,  plain,  and  dale,  meadow,  field,  and  forest, 
its  broad  white  roads,  its  luxuriant  foliage,  its  quaint,  com- 
fortable farmhouses,  and  its  nestling  red  brick  villages,  form 
a  picture,  that,  for  loveliness,  surpasses  any  effort  of  the 
imagination. 

The  journey  by  rail  from  Liverpool  to  London  is  through 
an  excellent  country,  and  the  traveller  with  any  appreciation 
of  nature  and  rustic  art  is  charmed  and  delighted  at  every 
mile. 

The  glory  of  such  a  scene  no  pen,  unless  it  is  mine,  can 
adequately  describe ;  and  to  pass  through  its  beauties,  only 
to  be  swindled  in  the  end  by  a  red-haired  cabman,  is  one 
of  the  saddest  episodes  in  this  vale  of  tears. 

But  the  scenery  of  rural  England  is  seen  to  the  least 
advantage  from  a  swift  railway  train.  It  is  like  looking  into 
a  beautiful  kaleidoscope  turned  by  a  boy  who  thinks  he 
hears  a  band  in  the  street.  Every  impression  is  hardly  set 
before  it  is  obliterated  by  the  next,  and  that  immediately 
smothered  by  the  succeeding,  and  so  on. 

But  from  the  roof  of  a  stage-coach  the  panorama  is  un- 
rolled before  the  observer  in  all  its  loveliness,  new  beauties 


24  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

unfolding  as  the  old  are  digested  ;  and  the  pure  air  of  the 
heavens  and  the  fragrance  of  the  fields  and  woods  minister 
to  the  body  while  the  mind  is  being  regaled. 

The  railways  have  killed  off  the  regular  coach-lines,  but 
have  not  rubbed  out  from  the  English  mind  the  remem- 
brance of  the  comfort  and  pleasure  they  afforded ;  and  so, 
in  the  last  few  years,  some  of  the  gentry  revived  a  coach-line 
from  London  into  the  rural  districts,  one  of  the  points  being 
Dorking,  which  Dickens  made  famous  in  "  The  Pickwick 
Papers."  Here  the  "  Marquis  of  Granby  "  still  affords  rest 
and  refreshment  for  man  and  beast. 

These  coaches,  exact  patterns  of  their  deceased  ances- 
tors, commence  running  on  the  first  of  May,  and  continue 
through  the  summer. 

To  make  the  "  illusion  "  the  more  perfect,  they  start  from 
that  old  and  famous  coach  starting-point  in  Piccadilly,  the 
White  Horse  Cellar,  and  bring  up  at  some  equally  aged  and 
reputable  hostelry  in  the  terminal  town. 

And  so  the  first  day  of  May  was  an  active  and  animated 
day  in  Piccadilly.  All  the  reverencers  of  the  stage-coach 
(and  they  are  many),  with  scores  of  all  classes,  —  admirers 
of  that  noble  animal,  the  horse,  —  from  the  active  newsboy 
up  to  the  aristocratic  member  of  the  Four-in-Hand  Club, 
assembled  before  the  ancient  White-Horse-Cellar  inn  a  little 
after  nine  o'clock  that  morning.  The  coaches  were  to  start 
at  ten,  and  the  crowd  were  determined  to  be  on  hand  in 
time. 

Of  Piccadilly  you  and  I  have  often  read.  In  the  pages 
of  history  and  other  kinds  of  fiction  it  has  figured  frequent- 
ly ;  but  what  sort  of  a  place  it  was  I  never  knew.  In  my 
mind  it  was  associated  with  a  variety  of  occurrences,  whose 
characteristics  I  expected  were  in  some  sort  of  way  stamped 
upon  it,  and  by  which  it  might  be  recognized  at  a  glance. 
I  did  expect,  or  rather  had  a  vague  impression,  that  a  sight 
of  the  place  would  recall  all  the  occurrences  ever  associated 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  2$ 

with  it,  and  bring  them  out  with  a  vividness  the  printed  page 
was  incapable  of  doing.  Not  Piccadilly  in  particular  was  to 
possess  this  virtue,  but  all  the  equally  famous  places. 

Piccadilly  is  a  street,  of  course,  a  business  street,  with 
nothing  but  its  name  painted  on  the  corners  to  indicate 
what  it  has  been.  This  was  a  shock  to  me,  and  will  be  a 
shock  to  those  familiar  with  London  thoroughfares  in  con- 
nection with  stirring  and  important  events,  but  whose  eyes 
have  never  rested  upon  their  wondrous  clean  pavements, 
and  rows  of  dingy  houses  and  glaring  shops. 

The  White  Horse  Cellar  (its  modem  name  is  Hatchctt's 
Hotel)  is  four  stories  high  (very  low  stories)  ;  is  built  of 
brick  (dark,  muddy-looking  brick)  ;  has  no  architectural  pre- 
tensions ;  no  swinging  sign  with  a  white  horse  prancing  on 
three  legs  ;  no  broad  archway  with  a  vista  of  coaches,  carts, 
and  smock-frocks ;  no  fat  landlord  with  a  very  red  nose  and 
a  very  bald  head.  The  White  Horse  Cellar  has  none  of 
these  attractions.  It  is  simply  a  dingy-faced  building  now ; 
but  once  it  had  all  of  these  features,  and  was  the  pride  and 
glory  of  a  score  of  Tony  Wellers. 

But  never  in  its  prime  was  the  White  Horse  Cellar  as  busy 
and  bustling  and  as  cheerful  as  now.  The  sound  of  a  horn 
is  heard.  The  crowd  sway  from  side  to  side  ;  and  through 
the  line  thus  formed,  and  up  to  the  door  of  the  happy  old 
house,  drove  the  Tunbridge -Wells  coach,  with  its  four  fat 
and  sleek  steeds  gorgeously  harnessed,  and  adorned  with 
flowers,  while  itself  fairly  shone  with  new  paint  and  polished 
brasses.  I  knew  everybody  was  excited  :  I  knew  it  because  I 
was  a  trifle  inflamed  myself.  It  seemed  as  if  I  could  feel 
every  hair  on  my  head  refuse  to  "  sit  down  in  front,"  while 
gallons  of  blood  I  knew  nothing  of  heretofore  rushed  through 
my  veins  with  a  pressure  that  threatened  to  burst  them. 

A  thousand  pictures  of  the  happy  coaching-days  of  old 
crowded  my  vision,  until  my  head  swam  to  such  a  degre« 
that  I  feared  I  would  drop  down  in  a  fit,  and  be  bled  by  an 
expensive  surgeon. 


26  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

But  how  excited  ever}'body  was  !  and  how  loud  they 
laughed  !  It  didn't  seem  as  if  they  wanted  to  express  any 
particular  ideas,  but  simply  to  yell,  and  get  rid  of  the  press- 
ure. 

That's  the  way  I  felt ;  and  that's  the  way  they  felt,  —  I 
know  by  their  looks.     Heaven  bless  them  ! 

I  could  have  cheerfully  given  anybody  a  half-sovereign  to 
have  stepped  on  my  foot,  that  I  might  have  screamed. 

But  I  rubbed  my  head  for  lack  of  other  relief;  and  then 
felt  of  the  horses  and  their  harness,  and  peered  into  the 
coach,  and  up  at  the  wide  roomy  seats  on  the  roof;  and 
then  took  hold  of  the  wheels ;  and  finally  got  down  on  my 
hands  and  knees,  and  looked  over  the  bright  and  running 
parts ;  in  which  position  I  narrowly  escaped  being  backed 
over  by  the  coach  itself,  and  losing  some  of  my  legs. 

Heavens,  what  an  ecstasy  it  all  was  ! 

Then,  the  passengers  who  had  booked  the  places  having 
taken  their  seats,  the  whip,  a  fine  gentleman  in  tight-fitting 
drab  clothes,  gathered  up  the  reins,  the  boots  gave  a  flour- 
ish with  the  horn,  the  people  shouted  (you  ought  to  have 
heard  my  yell;  but  perhaps  you  did),  and  the  stage  and 
its  grand  horses  shot  down  the  street ;  and  the  crowd  closed 
around  the  new-comer,  the  Windsor  coach,  which,  similarly 
equipped,  and  loading  rapidly,  also  sounded  its  horn,  and 
bore  away  for  Windsor  Castle  and  its  famous  neighborhood. 
These  are  the  ten-o'clock  coaches. 

An  hour  passes,  and  first  of  the  coaches  fixed  for  this 
time  is  the  Guilford,  which  is  greeted  with  a  cheer  as  it 
swings  up  to  the  door,  and  its  splendid  team  champ  their 
bits,  and  toss  their  proud  heads. 

I  was  going  on  the  Guilford,  —  going  down  into  old  Surrey 
on  a  three-hours'  stretch,  with  a  fine  English  dinner  at  the 
end,  and  a  glorious  return-drive  after  a  reviving  smoke.  I 
l)ut  my  thuni])s  into  tlie  arm-holes  of  my  vest,  aiid  allowed 
my  chest  to  bulge  somewhat. 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  2/ 

Any  impartial  beholder  could  have  told  at  a  glance  that  I 
was  either  going  on  that  coach,  or  owTied  it. 

I  had  booked  an  outside  place,  the  first  seat  back  of  the 
box,  and  in  easy  punching  distance  of  the  driver.  I  could 
almost  hear  my  legs  tremble  as  I  climbed  up  to  it. 

I  had  hardly  got  settled,  and  was  only  half  way  through  a 
triumphant  glance  over  the  crowd,  when  the  cloths  were  re- 
moved from  the  backs  of  the  impatient  steeds.  Col.  Dick- 
son gathered  up  the  reins  with  deliberate  ease,  neither  seeing 
the  people,  nor  reahzing  {apparently)  that  they  were  trying 
to  perforate  him  with  their  eyes,  and  ingulf  him  within  their 
extended  mouths.  The  boots,  sparkling  with  flat  brass 
buttons,  sounded  the  bugle  most  cheerily,  the  word  was 
given,  and  we  were  away. 

Down  Piccadilly  we  went  at  a  sharp  gait ;  the  leaders,  with 
their  cocked  ears  and  arched  necks,  running  straight  ahead 
to  edify  the  people ;  while  the  heavier  wheel-horses  brought 
along  the  coach.  Through  the  crowd  at  the  Wellington  Statue, 
and  into  Knightsbridge,  we  moved  along  at  an  exhilarating 
gait,  the  people  stopping  on  the  walk  to  admire  the  gay 
turnout  -and  the  intelligent  appearance  of  the  passengers. 
Down  Brompton  Road,  and  amid  its  full  tide  of  vehicles,  we 
bowled  along  without  the  least  abatement  of  our  speed,  the 
horn  of  the  boots  clearing  the  way  before  us  as  effectually 
as  if  it  had  been  a  simoon  loaded  with  vitriol.  And  so  on, 
on,  on,  into  Fulham  Road,  by  gaping  butchers,  and  admiring 
bakers,  and  envious  grocers ;  the  lethargic  donkey-carts  and 
gruff  'buses,  and  insolent  cabs,  and  aristocratic  drags,  taking 
the  side  of  the  road  with  alacrity,  while  we  passed  through 
at  a  sparkling  trot,  and  held  on  to  the  rail  to  keep  our 
breath  and  senses. 

By  shops  and  homes,  and  terraces  and  garden-walls,  and 
screaming  children  and  smiling  parents,  we  bowled  along  at 
the  same  exhilarating  trot ;  the  clicking  of  the  animals'  hoofs 
on  the  smooth  flint  road  making  a  music  that  filled  our  souls 
with  delight,  and  our  blood  with  needles. 


28  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

And  so  on  over  Putney  Bridge,  with  the  lazy  Thames 
rolling  beneath,  up  the  hill  of  Putney  High  Street,  with  its 
pretty  cottages  and  terraced  wilderness  of  flowers,  and  so 
out  into  the  country,  —  the  broad,  open  country  of  rustic 
England. 

And  still  there  is  no  halting  in  the  lively  gait  of  the  gallant 
beasts ;  no  break  in  the  steady,  even  click  of  their  iron  hoof 
on  the  hard  flint. 

We  are  out  of  the  crowded  thoroughfares  now,  and  be- 
yond the  supervision  of  the  city's  vigilant  street  commis- 
sioners :  but  the  road  is  still  broad  and  white,  and  hard  and 
smooth ;  and,  wherever  it  may  lead,  —  over  common  or 
across  heath,  up  hill  or  down  dale,  by  field  or  by  park,  —  it 
will  still  be  broad  and  white,  and  hard  and  smooth. 

What  a  wonderful  road  is  the  English  highway,  to  be  sure  ! 
what  astonishing  prodigality  of  ground  in  the  midst  of  an 
over-crowded  territory  !  Why,  all  America,  with  its  thousands 
of  square  miles  of  idle  land,  cannot  boast  of  an  artery  like 
this ;  nor,  with  all  its  capital  and  labor,  has  it  yet  succeeded 
in  keeping  a  highway  in  such  perfect  order. 

How  broad  and  smooth  it  is  as  it  stretches  before  us  !  how 
even  and  green  is  its  turf,  its  marvellous  turf,  that  belts  each 
side  of  the  carriage-way,  whose  white  line  cuts  through  its 
shining  green  as  straight  and  sharp  as  ever  the  gravelly  way 
cut  through  the  turf  of  a  model  garden  !  In  all  the  space  of 
its  flinty  surface,  from  London  down  to  Guilford  town,  there 
is  not  a  rut  sufficiently  large  to  hold  the  purse  of  Lazarus. 

We  are  running  across  Wimbledon  Common  now,  where 
her  Majesty's  troops  make  a  pleasure-day  for  other  people 
by  making  an  uncomfortable  one  for  themselves,  and  where 
there  is  the  line  of  an  ancient  intrenchment  dating  away 
back  in  the  unhealthy  fog  of  the  Roman  age. 

Wimbledon  Common  is  wild  grass,  gravel-jjits,  and  yellow 
blossoming  furze,  where  sheep  and  bad  boys  gambol  away 
the  i)recious  time. 


ENGLAND  FROM  A  BACK-WINDOW.        29 

Putney  Heath  near  to  has  many  features  in  common, 
excepting  that  it  is  heavily  dotted  with  sombre  firs  instead 
of  bilious  furze. 

How  clear  and  beautiful  the  air  is  out  here  in  the  country  ! 
We  left  the  smoky  and  hazy  atmosphere  when  we  left  the 
pavement ;  and  now  the  sky  is  blue  again,  and  the  air  is 
laden  with  the  odor  of  lilac,  hedge,  and  meadow-land. 

Down  into  old  Kingston,  and  through  its  ancient  market- 
square,  with  the  carts  and  people  standing  and  looking  as 
they  did  centuries  ago,  undoubtedly,  we  rattled  along, — 
the  bugle's  lusty  strains  clearing  the  street,  and  filling  the 
windows,  —  and  drawing  rein  at  the  venerable  hostlery  of  the 
Horn  and  Bell,  in  whose  archway  stood  the  smiling  hostler 
and  the  change  of  horses,  the  passengers  descended,  and 
stretched  their  legs,  while  a  fresh  team  were  put  in,  and  the 
jaded  beasts  trotted  up  the  paved  way  to  the  stables. 

I  gazed  hungrily  at  the  Horn  and  Bell.  This  was  some- 
thing like  I  had  read  of,  but  not  quite ;  although  I  imagined 
I  detected  in  the  loungers  who  were  now  helping  to  put 
in  the  horses  an  excellent  counterfeit  of  the  loungers  who 
moved  to  a  similar  service  a  hundred  years  ago. 

But  we  were  off  again  in  a  moment,  and  the  clicking 
hoofs  and  musical  bugle  sounded  as  before. 

On  the  right  of  us  lay  the  Thames ;  beyond,  the  trees  of 
Hampton  Court  (that  former  residence  of  royalty),  and  the 
Park  of  Bushy,  with  its  wonderful  array  of  chestnut-trees  : 
on  the  left  were  the  old  street-front,  its  gentry  homes,  paved 
lanes  and  courts,  and  staring  people. 

Out  again  into  the  country  we  flew,  by  a  gentleman's  park, 
ivy-covered  cottage,  lodge,  and  country  church.  We  dipped 
down  into  dells,  and  rose  gradual  hills,  and  sped  across  level 
ground,  with  noble  trees,  and  velvety  turf,  and  finely-trimmed 
hedges,  on  both  sides  of  us.  We  passed  the  plodding  don- 
key-cart and  heavily-wheeled  farmer-wagon,  and  the  spruce 
carriage  of  the  land-o\vner,  taking  a  brief  glance  at  each, 


30  ENGLAND   fROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

but  looking  most  at  the  grand  scenery  and  the  little  quaint 
houses,  with  their  tiny  panes  of  glass,  their  red-tile  and  gray- 
moss  roofs,  their  green-embowered  porches,  and  paling- 
enclgsed  gardens  ;  and  here  and  there  a  long,  rambling  inn, 
of  white  wrinkled  walls,  and  bowing  roof,  with  lattice  win- 
dows, and  paved  court,  and  thatched  stables,  and  an  array 
of  pewter  mugs,  whose  bright  polished  sides  were  dazzling  in 
the  sun's  rays. 

On  to  Cobham  we  rushed,  and  up  to  the  front  of  its  hos- 
tlery,  gray  with  age,  and  with  the  moss  of  centuries  clinging 
to  its  walls ;  and  here  we  changed  horses  again,  and  smiled 
agreeably  down  into  the  round  eyes  of  the  villagers ;  and 
then  we  were  off  again,  across  Cobham  Common,  Whistley 
Heath,  by  cottage  and  mansion,  park  and  farm,  hedge  and 
brick  wall,  to  Ripley. 

The  moment  we  struck  the  paved  high  street  of  this  ven- 
erable place,  it  seemed  as  if  an  instantaneous  and  radical 
transformation  had  taken  place,  and  we  were  put  back  to 
the  sixteenth  century,  with  the  bustle  and  hurry  and  new- 
fangledness  of  the  nineteenth  century  but  the  memory  of  an 
ill-starred  dream. 

Years  and  years  ago  the  old  inn  before  which  we  are  now 
changing  horses  was  famous  as  a  coaching-place.  As  gayly 
as  trot  the  new  relief  through  the  cobbled  way  to-day,  so 
trotted  horses  that  have  passed  to  ashes  long  ago ;  and  as 
proudly  as  step  the  hostlers  to  the  pole  this  day,  so  passed 
the  hostlers  whose  bones  have  been  so  long  crumbled  into 
nothing,  that  no  living  person  remembers  the  time. 

There  is  no  change  to  its  walls  or  its  roof,  or  its  halls  or 
passage-ways,  and  perhaps  none  in  the  low-ceiling  tap-room, 
wliosc  burnished  pewter  mugs  may  have  shone  as  brightly  in 
the  eyes  of  the  wearers  of  knee-breeches  and  doublets  as 
they  do  now  in  the  eyes  of  the  rustic  owners  of  smock- 
frocks,  corduroy  breeches,  and  hobnailed  shoes,  whom  we 
see  about  us.     What  a  ramblini:  old  structure  it  is  !  what  a 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  3 1 

monstrous  high  roof!  what  curious  gables  and  quaint  win- 
dows !  what  a  capacious  stable-yard,  whose  coarse  pavement 
is  flecked  with  moss,  and  fringed  with  grass  !  what  low  door- 
ways !  what  curious  nooks  and  crannies  are  visible  every- 
where ! 

Can  it  be  possible  that  London,  with  nearly  four  milHons 
of  active  and  energetic  people,  is  within  twenty  miles  of  all 
this  mildew? 

We  rattled  out  of  Ripley  as  gayly  as  out  of  Piccadilly  ;  and 
in  a  moment  the  quaint,  antique,  low-browed,  white  walled 
houses  were  out  of  sight,  and  in  another  moment  we  were 
again  engrossed  in  admiration  of  lawn,  hedges,  red-brick 
gables,  parks,  and  bright  fields  of  an  English  landscape. 

We  fairly  thundered  down  High  Street .  in  old  Guilford, 
just  as  we  have  read  of  royalty  and  highwaymen  thundering 
into  the  ancient  place.  I  don't  know  that  the  pavement  is 
any  different  from  that  of  other  EngUsh  towns :  but  I  ex- 
pected a  noise  as  we  came  in  at  the  head  of  the  street,  and 
I  got  it ;  we  were  almost  deafened. 

We  went  down  at  a  spanking  gait,  however ;  and  the  bugle 
sounded  as  merrily  as  ever  a  bugle  could  sound  on  a  May- 
day. The  owners  of  the  shops,  and  the  pedestrians  on  the 
walk,  stopped  to  watch  us.  The  dress  of  the  people  was  the 
only  difference  between  this  and  the  arrival  of  a  coach  on 
any  week-day  in  the  dim  past.  Here  were  the  heavy  pave- 
ments, the  odd  shop- windows,  the  projecting  upper  floors, 
the  lattices,  the  pointed  roofs  of  tile,  of  two  hundred  years 
ago,  The  sun  had  changed  more  in  that  time  than  the 
scene  it  was  now  shining  upon. 

I  was  so  full  of  olden  memories,  and  appreciation  and 
enjoyment,  that  it  seemed  as  if  I  should  split  open,  and  per- 
manently cripple  innocent  people. 

We  drove  up  to  the  White  Fawn,  where  we  were  to  have 
dinner ;  and,  diving  through  the  eager  crowd  of  good  Guil- 
ford citizens  who  gathered  to  look  at  the  London  coach,  we 


32  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

were  met  by  a  waiter,  and  escorted  up  a  broad,  crooked 
staircase,  and  through  a  musty  passage,  to  a  wainscoted  bed- 
room, where  we  made  a  hasty  toilet. 

After  that  we  had  a  grand  dinner  before  a  firej)lace  wide 
enough  and  high  enough  for  an  American  hotel  clerk  to 
warm  liimself  by. 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  33 


CHAPTER  V. 

GIVES  MORE   DETAILS   OF   LONDON. 

WHAT  is  here  called  "  the  city,"  and  what  was  origi- 
nally London,  is  a  very  small  space  in  the  city  of 
to-day.  From  what  I  had  read  of  it,  I  judged  it  lay  in  the 
very  geographical  heart  of  the  metropolis,  and  was  very 
difficult  of  access.  My  sole  fear  in  coming  here  was  that  I 
might  get  to  a  hotel  in  "  the  city,"  and  rarely  see  the  outside  ; 
or  be  lodged  outside,  and  never  see  "the  city." 

The  city  is  now  thoroughly  devoted  to  business  purposes ; 
that  is,  banks  and  cigar-stores.  It  is  down  by  the  river, 
the  damp  Broadway  of  London,  and  is  to  this  metropolis 
what  the  City-hall  and  Wall-street  neighborhood  is  to  New 
York,  —  a  section  of  ill-defined  and  invisible  limits.  The 
tourist  who  has  but  two  or  three  days  in  London  should  get  a 
hotel  as  near  to  the  city  as  possible ;  about  Charing  Cross, 
for  instance. 

There  are  many  places  in  London  with  which  the  general 
reader  is  acquainted,  but  which  he  never  saw.  It  is  natural 
that  we  should  form  in  our  own  mind  an  idea  of  the  geo- 
graphical and  architectural  features  of  the  places  and  scenes 
and  incidents  we  read  about.  The  impressions  are  instan- 
taneous, but  vivid,  and  last  through  all  time,  unless  we  are 
so  fortunate  or  unfortunate  as,  to  see  with  the  physical  eye 
that  they  are  incoixect,  which  they  rarely  fail  to  be. 

What  was  called  a  road  when  it  really  was  a  road  through 


34  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

open  country  several  hundred  years  ago  retains  its  name, 
although  its  nature  is  completely  transformed.  The  same  of 
the  lanes. 

When  St.  Martin's  Church  was  built,  the  location  was  in 
the  open  country  between  the  cities  of  London  and  West- 
minster, and  it  was  called  St.  Martin-in-the- Fields.  It  is  so 
called  now,  although  hemmed  in  by  crowded  streets,  with 
the  fields  and  daisies  miles  away. 

St.  Giles-in-the-Fields  is  another  well-preserved  misnomer. 
It  rears  its  dingy  and  smoky  front  in  the  somewhat  doubtful 
and  oppressive  neighborhood  of  the  Seven  Dials. 

The  hills  are  not  quite  as  ambiguous  as  the  fields  and 
lanes ;  but  Holborn  and  Ludgate  Hills  —  both  familiar  names 
to  the  reader,  and  now  crowded  thoroughfares  —  are  so 
vague  as  to  require  the  aid  of  a  policeman  to  find  their  as- 
cent. 

The  lanes  and  streets  are  more  intricate  than  the  monthly 
statement  of  the  United-States  Treasury.  Owing  to  London 
being  a  combination  of  many  parishes,  boroughs,  and  towns, 
the  names  which  they  individually  applied  to  their  streets 
are,  in  many  instances,  duplicated  ;  and  the  conser\-ative  ten- 
dency of  the  English  has  led  them  to  retain  them,  rather 
than  make  the  change  which  the  case  actually  demands. 
Consequently,  we  have  several  High  Streets,  several  Broad 
Streets,  and  several  of  many  other  names,  scattered  over  the 
city,  and  causing  the  stranger  to  carry  on  like  a  pirate.  The 
confusion  is  further  enhanced  by  streets  with  several  names 
to  each,  and  by  the  process  of  numbering  the  houses,  which 
is  the  most  hilarious  abandonment  of  system  ever  witnessed. 

A  street  will  begin  with  one  name,  drop  suddenly  into 
another,  flop  abruptly  into  a  third,  and  turn  completely  over 
into  a  fourth,  and  so  on. 

There  is  the  Strand,  for  instance.  From  Charing  Cross 
to  Temple  Bar  it  is  the  Stranil ;  beyond  the  Bar  it  is  Fleet 
Street;    then   it   becomes   Ludgate    Hill;    then  St.   Paul's 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  35 

Churchyard  (cheerful  name  for  a  street)  ;  then  Cannon 
Street ;  then  Eastcheap  (whatever  that  means)  ;  and  finally 
Great  Tower  Street,  where  its  checkered  career,  like  that 
,of  many  a  human  being,  is  ended  by  the  Tower  of  Lon- 
don. This  is  the  one  bright  ray  in  the  dark  history  of  that 
structure. 

But,  in  the  numbering  of  its  houses,  Londoners  have 
achieved  the  greatest  success.  You  will  frequently  find  the 
first  and  last  number  on  a  street  directly  opposite  each  other. 
This  apparent  impossibihty  is  easily  performed  by  number- 
ing first  on  one  side  of  the  street,  and  then  back  on  the  other 
side.  Let  us  suppose  a  case.  You  want  No.  840  on  Great 
Christopher  Street.  You  find  one  end  of  that  avenue,  look 
up  at  the  number  of  the  first  house,  and  learn  (as  you  are 
sure  to  do  nine  hundred  and  ninety-nine  times  in  every 
thousand  searches  for  the  highest  number)  that  it  is  the 
first  number,  —  No.  i.  "  Thunder  and  lightning  !  "  you  ex- 
claim, and  at  once  put  up  the  street  at  a  lively  gait,  looking 
neither  to  the  right  nor  left,  but  keeping  straight  ahead,  and 
thinking  only  of  the  fact  that  you  have  to  pass  four  hundred 
and  twenty  houses  before  reaching  your  number. 

By  the  time  you  have  gone  nearly  that  distance  you  are 
suddenly  confronted  by  a  wall  of  building  ahead,  and  flatter 
yourself  that  the  journey  is  at  an  end.  You  look  up  to 
the  nearest  door,  with  the  expectation  that  you  are  700 
and  something,  and  are  amazed  to  see  that  you  are  barely 
half  that,  with  but  a  few  houses  ahead  of  you.  You  hurry 
on  with  bated  breath,  searching  every  door  with  hysterical 
eagerness,  only  to  find  the  expectation  of  some  unravelling 
of  the  hideous  riddle  a  baseless  fabric.  You  reach  the  last 
house  on  that  side  :  it  is  420.  You  look  across  to  the  oppo- 
site door:  it  is  421.  To  the  next:  it  is  422.  You  call  a 
policeman,  and  tell  him  your  trouble.  He  explains  that  the 
number,  judging  from  surroundings,  must  be  at  the  lower 
end  of  the  street ;  and  his  information  is  not  exactly  like  the 


36  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-W4ND0W. 

trickling  of  cr}'stal  waters  over  mossy  rocks,  but  it  is  knowl- 
edge, and  knowledge  is  power ;  and  you  knock  your  head 
against  a  post,  and  pick  up  your  weary  and  perspiring  legs, 
and  start  on  again.  \\'hen  you  stand  before  840,  and  find 
that  it  is  exactly  opposite  No.  i,  the  language  with  which 
you  clothe  your  ideas  fits  better  than  it  looks. 

London  overflows  with  courts  that  seem  to  commence 
nowhere,  and  end  somewhere  near  there. 

Many  of  them  are  so  narrow,  that  people  leaning  from  the 
opposite  windows  can  clasp  hands.  It  takes  a  pretty  good 
reach ;  but  the  inhabitants  of  those  places  are  good  on  the 
reach. 

There  are  lanes,  with  a  roadway  just  wide  enough  to  ac- 
commodate one  wagon,  with  bustling  business-places  lining 
each  side  of  the  way.  These  quaint  thoroughfares  have 
been  in  existence  for  centuries ;  but  the  pavements  are  as 
clean  as  the  day  they  were  laid  do\\Ti. 

Londoners,  hke  all  the  rest  of  the  English,  are  fond  of 
titles.  If  they  can't  make  a  display  on  the  front-doors,  they 
do  on  their  envelopes.  How  many  times  I  have  pondered 
over  their  complicated  addresses,  and  wondered  if  the  com- 
ing man  would  understand  them  ! 

We  have  James  Jones,  16  Blood  Street,  North  Court, 
Pineover  Square,  Great  Mercer  Road,  E.G.  (East  Gentral 
District),  London. 

It  is  well  to  mention  North  Gourt,  as  there  may  be  other 
Blood  Streets  in  the  city ;  and  they  speak  of  Pineover  Square 
to  show  that  the  special  North  Gourt  in  question  is  not  any 
other  of  the  North  Courts.  Great  Mercer  Road  is  thus  men- 
tioned to  protect  Pineover  Square  from  being  confounded 
with  the  Pineover  Square  elsewhere ;  and  the  whole  is 
clinched  by  E.G.  beyond  all  i)ossibility  of  loss  in  the  mazes 
of  W.C,  S.E.C.,  &c. 

Among  other  things  the  stranger  notices  is  the  substan- 
tiality of  every  thing  but  the  breakHists  at  the  boarding- 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  37 

houses.  The  Englishman  is  not  ostentatious  to  a  degree 
that  is  offensive  in  the  matter  of  adornment ;  but  he  is 
solid  and  substantial  in  whatever  he  builds.  This  is  first 
evident  in  the  carriages,  cabs,  and  drays  which  throng  the 
streets  and  parks ;  unless  you  are  in  a  crowd,  when  the  first 
indication  of  his  great  body  and  weight  is  indicated  in  his 
hobnailed  shoes.  I  don't  mean  to  say  that  every  English- 
man wears  hobnailed  shoes ;  but  enough  of  them  do  to 
satisfy  and  convince  you. 

There  are  no  spider-webbed  carriage-wheels  here,  no 
gaudy  coloring  of  the  boxes,  no  wafer  springs.  Every  thing 
is  stanch,  plain  but  rich,  and  awful  solid. 

I  would  as  soon  think  of  being  run  over  by  a  steam-roller 
as  by  one  of  their  one-horse  carriages.  There  are  no  bug- 
gies, no  Brainards,  no  phaetons,  no  coal-boxes,  but  dog- 
carts, drags,  and  coaches. 

Some  Englishmen  cannot  afford  a  whole  horse  :  so  they  do 
with  a  pony  instead.  The  wandering  and  reflective  tourist 
is  surprised  by  the  abundance  of  little  ponies  which  he  meets 
hitched  up  to  carts  three  times  as  big  as  themselves,  and 
drawing  around  people  who  will  probably  die  of  dropsy. 

Once  in  a  while  you  come  across  something  familiar :  the 
one  thing  in  particular  is  the  placarding  of  dead  walls  with 
advertisements.  One  of  my  objects  in  coming  to  Europe 
was  to  get  rid  of  such  defamation  ;  but  here  it  is  carried  on 
with  all  the  vehemence  a  depraved  nature  is  capable  of.  In 
this  connection  it  strikes  me  rather  oddly,  that  while  the  ad- 
vertisements in  the  daily  papers  are  crowded  into  small  space 
and  solid  type,  like  the  dreary  array  of  sheriff  notices  in  a 
territorial  paper,  those  in  many  of  the  weeklies  are  displayed 
to  a  degree  that  is  absurd,  especially  on  the  titlepage. 

The  name  of  Tom  Hood's  paper  is  "  Fun ;  "  but,  to  an 
unimpassioned  observer,  it  looks  very  much  like  "  Eppes' 
Cocoa." 

Men  dressed  in  grotesque  rigging  of  an  advertising  nature 


38  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

are  not  allowed  here  to  scare  horses,  and  o(Tend  fastidious 
tastes  like  mine  ;  but  you  can  see  numbers  of  them  parading 
up  and  down,  with  announcement-boards  carried  in  front. 
They  are  not  allowed  on  the  walks,  however,  but  must  con- 
fine their  stroll  to  the  gutters.  They  are  paid  fourteen-pence 
per  diem,  and  rarely  lose  a  day  through  dyspepsia. 

There  are  occasionally  buildings  to  let  here,  of  course. 
It  is  not  wholly  a  land  of  antiquity  and  hoary  frost :  there  is 
changing  about,  I  am  sorry  to  say. 

Moving  about  town,  you  come  across  announcements  of 
rent,  leading  off  in  this  mild  and  humble  manner :  "  These 
commanding  premises,"  "This  most  noble  mansion,"  "This 
majestic  corner,"  "These  lovely  floors,"  &c. 

Also  there  are  occasionally  new  buildings,  —  the  most  of 
them  going  up  on  the  old  plan,  just  as  their  forefathers  would 
have  done  it.  When  you  see  a  new  stone  building  (when 
you  do,  remember),  you  see  something  that  involuntarily 
moves  you  to  tears.  The  stone  is  of  a  streaked,  yellowish- 
brown  tint,  —  such  a  tint  as  rusting  and  weeping  iron  imparts 
to  marble ;  and,  to  a  stranger  who  has  a  guide-book  in  every 
pocket,  it  is  a  spectacle  that  sends  the  hot  blood  flying  to 
his  head,  and  makes  every  nerve  tingle.  It  looks  like  a 
building  dug  out  of  an  ancient  peat-bed ;  and  how  often 
have  I  seen  new  Americans  leaning  up  against  them  and 
crying,  and  the  policemen  hustling  them  away  ! 

There  is  plenty  of  weather  in  London,  but  no  stoves. 
The  absence  of  stove-stores  is  so  conspicuous,  no  one  from 
America  can  help  noticing  it.  I  spoke  to  an  Englishman 
about  it,  and  volunteered  to  mingle  my  tears  with  his ;  but 
he  said,  — 

"  No  stove-shops?  Oh,  my,  yes  !  Plenty  of  them  ;  plenty 
of  them.  Oh,  oh,  oh,  my  !  —  oh,  my,  yes  !  Plenty  of  them  ; 
plenty  of  them.     Oh,  yes,  indeed  !  " 

That's  the  way  an  Englishman  talks,  especially  if  he  is 
an   Englishwoman.     He   is  very  fond  of  interjections,  ami 


'       ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  39 

always  gives  a  rising  inflection  to  the  last  word  of  the 
sentence.  The  representative  Englishman  is  an  altogether 
different-looking  person  from  the  representative  American ; 
but  the  masses  of  both  sides  would  blend  well  in  features 
and  dress.  But  no  amount  of  study  and  practice  will  enable 
an  American  to  talk  like  an  Englishman.  There  is  where  an 
Englishman  has  the  advantage  of  us,  thank  Heaven  ! 

But  I  have  seen  no  stove-stores,  nevertheless.  At  the 
International  Exhibition,  in  a  department  devoted  with  a 
flourish  to  stoves,  I  found  two  sickly  specimens  of  cook- 
stoves,  but  any  number  of  towering  ranges  and  gorgeous 
fireplaces.  Every  room  in  the  London  house  is  provided 
with  a  fireplace  ;  also  with  a  hollow  sheet-iron  guard  or  fen- 
der in  the  front ;  also  with  a  pair  of  ponderous  tongs,  a  long 
poker,  and  a  long-handled  shovel.  The  last  three  articles 
stand  up  at  the  sides  of  the  place.  I  am  very  particular  in 
mentioning  this  fact,  as  it  has  made  a  deep  impression  upon 
me.  A  stove  is  bad  enough  to  manage,  especially  when 
there  is  an  obstinate  clinker  in  the  grate,  and  you  have  got 
on  a  pair  of  tight  pants ;  but  I  think  a  pair  of  long-legged 
tongs,  with  poker  and  shovel  to  match,  are  calculated  to 
drive  a  man  farther  into  insanity  than  a  stove. 

I  am  quite  confident  I  never  approach  the  fireplace  with- 
out knocking  down  all  of  these  articles.  Perhaps  it  is  the 
poker  first,  and  that  trips  up  the  shovel ;  and,  in  trying  to  save 
them,  I  become  entangled  in  the  ton^s,  and  down  they  come 
on  the  sheet-iron  surface  of  the  hollow  fender,  making  a  crash 
that  is  exasperating  beyond  all  power  of  description. 

The  entertainment  is  beginning  to  pall  on  the  taste. 

The  English  mind  is  strongly  conservative,  and  does  not 
take  kindly  to  change,  unless  it  is  small  change.  The  young- 
sters are  conspicuous  for  jackets,  broad  linen  collars,  and 
high  hats,  just  as  the  youngsters  of  America  were  similarly 
conspicuous  twenty-five  years  ago,  and  even  beyond  that 
time,  without  doubt.     The  men  dress  pretty  much  as  we  do. 


40  ENGLAND    FROM    A    P.ACK-WIXDOW. 

with  the  exception  of  the  head-gear.  They  wear  but  two 
kinds  of  hats,  —  the  stiff  round  crown,  and  the  high  hat,  or 
"  silky."  The  great  variety  of  soft  hats  are  not  known  here. 
In  fact,  I  have  seen  but  one  soft  hat  since  I  came  to  Lonilon 
outside  the  shop-windows,  and  but  very  few  there.  The 
"  silky  "  is  almost  exclusively  worn  by  the  better  classes  and 
cabmen,  and  the  round  crown  by  the  others.  There  are 
no  caps  to  speak  of.  The  gentlemen  dress  in  good  taste ; 
but  the  ladies  — 

Would  to  Heaven  some  other  pen  would  make  known 
the  humiliating  fact,  that,  in  taste  in  dress,  the  English  woman 
is  far  behind  her  American  sister  ! 

Many  of  the  garments  worn  by  the  English  ladies  were 
the  American  style  a  year  ago  :  and  I  contend  most  earnestly 
that  a  seal-skin  cloak  with  a  linen  dress,  or  heavy  muff  and 
victorine  with  a  summer  silk,  are  not  the  acme  of  good 
taste ;  and  yet  I  have  frequently  seen  these  combinations 
on  the  fashionable  streets  and  i)romenades. 

Some  of  the  ladies  who  occupy  the  Hyde-park  carriages, 
with  liveried  coachman  and  footman  on  the  box,  are  actually 
dowdyish  in  their  appearance. 

The  English  woman  is  not  as  handsome  as  the  American 
woman.  But  I  do  not  know  as  she  claims  to  be.  More 
handsome  women  can  be  seen  in  one  evening  on  Main 
Street  in  Danbury  than  in  an  entire  afternoon  on  fashionable 
Regent  Street  in  London. 

I  venture  to  say  you  will  see  ten  "  country-looking  "  belles 
in  the  boxes  of  a  first-class  London  theatre,  where  you  will 
find  one  in  the  boxes  of  a  theatre  in  any  American  city  of 
fifteen  thousand  population. 

The  pictures  of  women  to  be  found  in  the  English  illus- 
trated papers  give,  you  will  remember,  an  expression  of  lan- 
guid refinement  that  I  have  often  admired,  and  which  is  so 
uniform  in  the  prints,  that  I  knew  I  should  recognize  an 
English  woman  the  moment  I  saw  her. 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  4I 

No  one  can  imagine  how  grieved  I  am  to  record  the  fact, 
that  the  expression  of  the  ilkistrated  woman  is  a  rare  excep- 
tion :  the  finest-looking  women  are  to  be  found  among  the 
poorer  classes.  But,  of  the  two,  the  English  woman  is  far 
the  healthier.  Her  red  cheeks  are  the  gift  of  nature  :  they 
are  not  store  cheeks.  And  it  is  not  a  dead  color,  like  that  of 
the  buildings,  but  a  clear,  deep  color.  It  is  not  confined  to 
any  one  particular  class ;  but  it  is  the  common  heritage  of 
all.  I  can  never  forget  those  red  cheeks  :  I  shall  never 
want  to. 

The  London  policeman  attracts  the  attention  of  the  tour- 
ist at  once.  He  is  dressed  in  a  blue  uniform,  as  are  ours ; 
but  he  is  rendered  noticeable  by  a  stiff  wool  body  helmet, 
which  he  wears  in  place  of  a  cap  or  Panama  hat.  We  may 
laugh  at  the  "  rigging ;  "  but  we  must  respect  the  efficiency  of 
the  force.  But  few  crimes  are  committed  here,  as  the  lean 
police-records  afiirm ;  and  an  execution  a  year  is  the  aver- 
age. P.S.  — ^The  emotional  insanity  dodge  is  not  practised  ; 
and  they  convict,  do  those  English  juries,  where  there  is  a 
living  chance. 

There  are  two  other  uniformed  classes  which  attract  the 
eye.  One  is  the  ever-busy  shoeblack,  in  red  shirt  and  band- 
ed cap,  who  has  always  one  hand  pointed  reproachfully  at 
your  soiled  shoes,  and  the  other  applied  respectfully  to  his 
cap.  They  are  an  organization  of  their  own ;  and  each 
member  has  his  stand,  and  pays  for  it  according  to  its  im- 
portance. The  charge  for  blacking  a  pair  of  shoes  (no  one 
wears  boots  here)  is  one  penny,  or  two  cents  in  our  money. 

I  learned  these  facts  from  one  of  the  band,  whom  I  in- 
undated with  a  couple  of  pennies  for  the  information.  He 
winked  to  himself  on  the  receipt.  He  probably  thought  I 
was  a  second  Peabody  dropped  down  upon  London  by  a 
beneficent  Providence. 

The  other  uniformed  class  is  the  soldiery.  With  their  red 
coats,  and  paper-collar  box  caps  resting  on  one  ear,  straight 


42  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

backs,  retiring  shoulders,  and  jaunty  cane,  necessarily  make 
them  conspicuous  on  all  the  thoroughfares.  Their  straight 
spines  are  abominable ;  and  the  elaborate  parting  of  their 
back  hair,  and  swagger,  are  an  ofTence  in  the  eyes  of  the 
wayfarer. 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW,  43 


CHAPTER  VI. 

GIVES   AN   OFF-HAND   VIEW   OF   PARLIAMENT. 

A  FEW  days  ago  I  made  application  to  a  member  of 
the  House  of  Commons  for  permission  to  witness  a 
session. 

I  received  a  prompt  answer,  requesting  me  to  be  in  waiting 
in  St.  Stephen's  lobby  at  five  o'clock  that  afternoon,  where  the 
writer  would  meet  me,  and  "  put  me  through."  He  didn't 
use  that  phrase  exactly ;  but  that  was  the  substance  of  his 
note.  Knowing  it  would  not  do  to  trifle  with  the  time  of  a 
member  of  so  illustrious  a  body,  I  was  on  hand  promptly  to 
the  hour,  in  the  central  hall,  so  called,  where  two  policemen 
guarded  the  hallway  to  the  House.  I  explained  my  errand 
to  one  of  the  officers,  and  was  told  I  would  have  to  wait 
there  until  the  member  came  out,  as  the  House  was  already 
in  session. 

I  found  others  in  waiting,  and  new  faces  constantly  arriv- 
ing. Some  effected  an  immediate  entrance ;  others  were 
interviewed  briefly  by  members  with  whom  they  had  made 
engagements ;  and  the  rest  wandered  around  as  I  did,  and 
felt  of  the  mouldings. 

Sir  Charles  Dilke,  the  member  to  whose  courtesy  I  am 
indebted  for  the  view  of  the  House  in  session,  would  be, 
when  he  got  around,  the  first  knight  I  had  seen.  I  am  not 
much  used  to  titled  personages,  my  knowledge  of  them 
being  obtained  entirely  through  prints. 


44  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

With  the  imagination  thus  left  to  itself,  and  being  blessed 
with  an  imagination  that  never  knew  a  day's  sickness,  I  very 
naturally  constructed  a  party  worth  seeing. 

Common  sense  teaches  us  all  that  a  member  of  the  nobili- 
ty is  but  a  lump  of  human  clay  fashioned  on  models  com- 
mon to  our  seeing ;  but,  unconsciously  ignoring  the  teachings 
aforesaid,  we  find  our  mind  imbued  with  a  being  who  shows 
traces  of  nobility  in  his  very  step  and  bearing,  whom  no 
density  of  human  crowd  could  hide  from  our  vision. 

Am  I  exaggerating  this  mental  weakness?  Let  us  see. 
Can  you  conceive  of  a  bow-legged  duke?  Or  is  it  pos- 
sible for  you  to  locate  a  pimple  on  the  nose  of  a  viscount? 
And  no  one,  however  diseased  his  imagination,  ever  pic- 
tured a  baron  \vith  an  ulcerated  leg,  or  conceived  of  such  a 
monstrous  impossibility  as  a  cross-eyed  duchess. 

No,  my  dear  reader,  the  imperfections  of  the  masses  have 
never  been  associated  with  the  titled ;  and,  however  radically 
practical  are  the  teachings  of  common  sense,  the  ignorant 
fen'or  of  the  imagination  has  made  the  deeper  impression. 

And  so  I  was  very  soon  to  see  a  knight. 

I  was  pencilling  my  name  and  address,  with  other  infor- 
mation, on  the  calf  of  George  the  Third's  leg,  when  one  of  the 
policemen  shouted  the  name  of  Sir  Charles  Dilke.  "  Now," 
thought  I,  "  he  will  come  when  he  hears  that."  The  police- 
man shouted  again.  I  looked  at  him  very  attentively,  won- 
dering where  he  thought  Sir  Charles  was,  —  on  the  roof,  or 
in  the  crypt.  Again  he  screamed.  Then  his  eyes  suddenly 
lighted  on  me,  and  an  immediate  change  came  upon  his  face. 

"Oh!  there  you  are,  are  you?"  he  inquired  with  some 
disgust.     "  Why  didn't  you  answer  when  I  shouted  ? 

"My  name  ain't  Dilke,"  I  indignantly  protested.  "My 
name  is  "  — 

But  I  was  cut  short  by  a  well-built  gentleman  of  apparently 
thirty-five  years,  with  a  pleasant  expression  of  countenance, 
who  advanced  and  made  himself  known,  and  asked  mc  to 
follow  him. 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW,  45 

And  I  followed  him  by  the  policeman,  and  along  the  hall. 
This  was  Sir  Charles,  a  bona  fide  knight ;  and  I  examined 
his  appearance  with  engrossing  interest. 

He  was  a  well-built  man,  as  I  have  said,  but  ordinary 
appearing.  He  might  have  been  a  rural  lawyer  or  school- 
teacher ;  but  he  was  a  knight.  And  all  the  while  he  was 
going  ahead,  and  all  the  while  I  was  following  after,  I  tried 
to  clothe  him  with  a  lance  and  shield  and  helmet,  and  fell 
back  from  the  task  exhausted. 

In  the  lobby  he  bade  me  good-by,  and  went  back  into 
the  House ;  and  I  climbed  up  the  stairs,  and  came  out  into 
the  galleries,  and  took  my  first  look  at  the  House  of  Com- 
mons in  session. 

It  was  not,  to  first  appearance,  a  large  apartment.  There 
were  galleries  at  the  side,  and  one  at  each  end.  That  over 
the  speaker's  chair  was  devoted  to  shaggy-headed  and  bald- 
headed  men  called  reporters.  The  opposite  end-gallery  was 
devoted  to  the  quiet  and  patient  sight-seers. 

The  first  glance  showed  me  that  the  entire  place  was  of 
polished  oak,  which  gave  it  a  sombre  appearance.  Then  I 
looked  down  upon  the  commoners.  They  sat  in  pew-seats, 
arranged  like  gallery-seats,  in  tiers  one  above  the  other,  from 
the  middle  aisle  to  the  wall,  on  each  side.  In  a  heavy  oaken 
box  with  gorgeous  roof,  at  the  upper  end  of  the  aisle,  sat  the 
speaker,  in  a  fainting  condition,  apparently,  from  the  enor- 
mous wig  of  wool  on  his  head.  In  front  of  him,  in  the  aisle, 
sat  three  men  in  gowns  and  wigs.  In  front,  to  the  right  of 
him,  sat  the  conservatives,  tiered  up  there  in  gloomy  array. 
Opposite  them  were  the  fiery  radicals,  similarly  tiered.  Each 
man,  when  occasion  requires,  can  rest  himself  by  bracing 
his  knees  against  the  back  of  the  seat  in  front,  —  all  but  the 
occupants  of  the  front  or  lowest  seats,  who  have  nothing  in 
front  of  them. 

The  atmosphere  below  us  was  smoky ;  and  through  the 
hazy  canopy   appeared   the    statesmen    of    educated    and 


46  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WIXDOW. 

aristocratic  England,  with  uncovered  heads  and  crossed 
legs. 

The  smoke,  the  lounging  and  careless  attitudes  of  the 
members, —  wearing  their  hats,  and  carrying,  in  a  great  many 
instances,  their  hands  in  their  pockets, —  reminded  me  so 
forcibly  of  a  Western  hotel  bar-room,  that  for  an  instant  I 
was  benumbed,  and  could  merely  stare  down  upon  the 
astounding  spectacle,  without  the  faintest  attempt  to  under- 
stand it. 

A  conservative  was  speaking  upon  a  bill  for  regulating 
registration  of  deaths.  He  had  a  poor  voice,  a  faulty  pro- 
nunciation, and  spoke  so  low,  that  only  an  occasional  word 
could  be  understood  in  the  gallery.  I  watched  the  reporters, 
equally  distant  from  him,  and  having  no  earthly  interest  in 
the  subject,  and  wondered  what  sort  of  a  report  they  would 
make  of  his  speech ;  but  they  scribbled  on  as  uninterrupt- 
edly as  though  they  heard  what  he  was  saying. 

The  speaker  continued  to  sink  down  into  the  capacious 
folds  of  his  chair,  until  he  threatened  to  disappear  entirely. 
Some  of  the  members  shoved  their  hands  to  the- full  depth 
of  their  trousers'  pockets,  and,  with  hat-brims  drawn  down 
over  their  eyes,  fell  to  thinking  upon  the  condition  of  the 
country.  Others  simply  crossed  their  legs,  and  picked  their 
teeth  meditatively. 

Only  one  man  listened.  He  was  a  radical,  and  occupied 
the  front-seat.  His  attention  was  explained  when  the  conser- 
vative occupying  the  floor  sat  down.  Then  he  commenced, 
talking  rapidly,  and  reading  harrowing  statistics. 

Several  times  during  his  occupancy  of  the  floor  some  one 
among  the  radicals  distinctly  said,  "  Hear,  hear." 

There  were  other  speakers.  The  light  grew  dimmer. 
"Aren't  they  going  to  light  the  gas?"  asked  my  companion. 
I  said  nothing :  I  always  do  say  nothing  on  such  occasions. 
I  think  it  looks  i)rofoun(l. 

Now  there  was  a  radical  talking.     He  was  a  slim  man, 


ENGLAND  FROM  A  BACK-WINDOW.        47 

with  hair  frosted  w'ith  age,  and  a  very  nervous  face  and  quick 
voice.  The  moment  he  rose,  various  groanings  —  hke  shouts 
from  a  deep  sewer,  or  the  rumbhng  of  a  heavy  vehicle 
over  a  distant  bridge  —  ascended  from  the  conservatives. 
It  was  a  protest  against  his  taking  the  time  ;  a  sort  of  stoi- 
cal, wooden  opposition,  as  if  the  makers  of  it  were  doing  it 
by  the  day.  Not  the  least  change  of  position,  not  the  least 
show  of  animation,  was  visible  where  this  rumbhng  ascended. 
The  radicals  as  stoically  preserved  their  lounging  as  if  the 
success  or  faiku-e  of  their  fellow  was  of  no  moment  to  them  ; 
and  both  acted  as  if  the  entire  debate  was  a  dreary  farce,  of 
which  they  long  ago  had  tired. 

When  I  first  looked  at  the  pews,  and  saw  that  the  repre- 
sentatives of  a  great  nation  had  no  desk  to  put  their  feet 
upon,  and  spit  under,  I  was  sorry  fbr  them ;  but  I  am  not 
now. 

This  keeping  on  of  hats  in  the  House  of  Commons  was 
a  greater  shock  to  me  than  it  ought  to  have  been,  with  my 
experience  of  the  English  in  assemblage. 

The  English,  represented  as  being  burly,  suspicious,  reti- 
cent, and  stiff,  are,  on  the  contrary,  a  most  polite  people. 
I  don't  know  as  they  are  particularly  cordial  with  strangers, 
and  I  cannot  say  that  there  are  not  Englishmen  who  are  all 
that  is  above  complained ;  but  as  a  people  they  are  emphati- 
cally pohte.  As  a  stranger  in  London,  I  have  had  occasion 
to  make  many  inquiries,  and,  without  a  single  exception,  have 
received  obhging  answers.  It  is  an  Englishman's  habit  to 
look  a  trifle  dissatisfied  if  he  cannot  give  you  the  desired 
information. 

All  the  tradespeople  invariably  say  "  Thank  you,"  however 
trifling  may  be  your  purchase,  or  however  hurried  they  may 
be  ;  and  quite  frequently  they  say  something  pleasant  about 
the  weather.  And  one  has  only  to  see  this  London  weather 
to  understand  how  difficult  it  must  be  to  say  any  thing  pleas- 
ant about  it. 


48  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

But  the  Englishman  won't  take  off  his  hat  where  he  can 
possibly  avoid  it.  You  will  see  him  with  it  on  in  the  theatre, 
pubUc  galleries,  or  elsewhere  indoors,  except  at  church. 
To  an  American,  who  instinctively  takes  off  his  hat  in  the 
presence  of  ladies,  the  spectacle  of  gentlemen  seated  with 
women,  with  their  hats  on,  is  a  disagreeable  sensation. 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  49 


CHAPTER    VII. 


AN   ENGLISH   MOB. 


HAVING  now  seen  the  Englishman  in  his  more  ele- 
vated phase,  I  desired  to  look  upon  him  in  a  crowd ; 
and  the  opportunity  was  presented  in  the  reception  by  the 
city  of  the  Czar  of  all  the  Russias. 

I  had  heard  so  much  of  the  English  mob,  and  of  its 
aggressiv^e  and  offensive  nature,  that,  while  I  determined  to 
avail  myself  to  the  utmost  to  see  all  that  could  be  seen,  I 
also  determined  to  be  cautious  of  my  person. 

The  line  of  march  for  the  illustrious  guest  and  his  distin- 
guished company  was  from  Buckingham  Palace,  through 
Charing  Cross,  and  through  the  Strand,  Fleet  Street,  Lud- 
gate  Hill,  Cannon  Street,  to  Guild  Hall,  —  the  ancient  City 
Hall  of  London.. 

If  you  and  I  were  going  to  see  the  lord-mayor,  we  would 
proceed  there  in  a  cab  or  omnibus,  get  him  down  to  the 
door,  and  tell  him  we  were  glad  to  see  him,  leaving  him  to 
embellish  the  proceedings  as  he  saw  fit. 
'  But  in  this  case  the  visit  was  a  topic  of  enlivening  con- 
versation for  a  week  before  ;  and  the  preparation  for  the  mile 
or  so  visit  was  as  ostentatious  as  if  the  lord-mayor  was  on 
top  of  a  pinnacle  in  the  heart  of  Africa. 

Royalty  has  its  drawbacks. 

Several  days  before  the  contemplated  parade,  many  of  the 
shop-windows  on  streets  indicated  in  the  line  of  march  con- 


50  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

tained  announcements  of  seats  and  windows  to  be  let  for 
viewing  the  procession,  I  say,  7nany  of  the  shops  :  I  ought 
to  have  said,  nearly  all  of  them. 

And  not  only  the  shop-windows,  stripped  of  their  gor- 
geous display,  were  to  be  for  that  day  devoted  to  seeing 
the  sights,  as  if  in  exchange  for  the  months  they  had  sub- 
mitted to  being  the  sights,  but  windows  above  were  also 
placarded  for  the  market. 

Sunday  being  the  day  before,  Saturday  was  devoted  to 
preparing  places  for  the  flags  and  banners,  and  seats  at  the 
upper  windows. 

Monday  morning  at  da}'light  I  strolled  the  whole  length 
of  the  route.  In  the  Strand,  with  the  street  otherwise  de- 
serted, I  found  n^en  sawing  and  hammering.  Wherever 
available,  a  platform  was  erected  and  rented.  Even  church- 
yard gates  were  placarded  with  the  price  of  admittance  to 
their  sacred  precincts  "  for  viewing  the  royal  procession." 

The  shop-windows,  which  on  Saturday  night  bristled  willi 
gold,  precious  stones,  and  the  costly  products  of  Eastern 
looms,  were  now  stripped  of  their  adornings  ;  and  impromptu 
benches,  disguised  with  green  or  red  paper,  were  taking  their 
places,  giving  the  thoughtful  Englishman  an  idea  of  the  feel- 
ings of  hie  forefathers  when  Cromwell  usurped  the  royal 
Stuarts. 

In  our  country  a  holiday  is  made  the  occasion  of  extra 
attention  to  the  show-windows  of  the  places  of  business 
along  the  route  of  the  procession  ;  but  here  it  was  the  re- 
verse. And  yet  both  have  the  same  object,  —  gain.  None 
of  the  business-men  of  the  Strand  and  Fleet  Street  appearetl 
to  be  too  high-toned  to  rent  his  window  for  the  accommo- 
dation of  Tom,  Dick,  and  Harry. 

AVliat  astonishment  I  may  have  felt  at  this  singular  taste 
in  the  better  class  of  shopkeepers  and  business-men  was 
dissipated  on  inquiring  the  i)rice  of  the  sittings. 

Front-seats  in  some  of  the  windows  were  valueil  at   two 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  5 1 

guineas  a  head,  or,  at  the  present  vakiation  of  gold  in  the 
United  States,  nearly  twelve  dollars.  If  a  man  had  a  wife 
and  four  children,  he  might  monopolize  the  entire  front  of 
the  window  during  the  passing  of  the  procession  for  the. 
trifling  sum  of  seventy  dollars.  In  some  places  the  seats 
were  four  deep,  the  price  lessening  as  the  rear  was  gained. 
The  lowest  price  for  a  front-seat  in  a  shop-window  was  one 
pound  (five  dollars).  In  the  upper  windows  the  price 
graded  with  the  floor,  —  ranging  from  ten  shiUings  to  one 
pound  for  the  first  floor,  six  shillings  to  fifteen  shillings  for 
the  second  floor,  and  five  shillings  to  ten  shillings  for  the 
third  floor. 

I  didn't  inquire  any  higher  than  the  third.  The  farther 
a  newspaper  man  goes  in  that  direction,  the  less  he  feels  at 
home. 

At  nine  o'clock  the  people  commenced  to  throng  the 
streets  through  which  royalty  was  to  pass. 

Fleet  Street  was  almost  dazzling  with  suspended  banners 
and  flags.  There  were  several  American  flags.  One  of 
them  was  graced  with  fifteen  very  apoplectic-looking  stars  ; 
another,  as  if  frightened  by  the  obesity  of  the  other's  con- 
stellation, appeared  without  any  stars  at  all,  the  space  in- 
tended for  that  portion  of  cotton  astronomy  being  as  blue 
and  blank  as  the  face  of  a  defeated  candidate. 

At  eleven  o'clock  the  roadways  were  covered  with  grav^el, 
the  sidewalks  were  packed  with  people,  all  public  vehicles 
were  ordered  from  the  route,  and  the  side-streets  sparkled 
with  roving  minstrels,  gymnasts.  Punch  and  Judys,  and  brass 
bands. 

At  twelve  o'clock  the  crowd  had  most  visibly  increased. 
As  far  as  the  eye  could  see,,  on  either  side,  were  the  dark 
masses  of  humanity,  almost  still  now,  for  the  jam  was  too 
great  to  permit  of  motion  ;  and  the  specks  floating  to  and 
fro  up  and  down  the  roadway  were  gathered  into  the  great 
lump  by  the  efficient  police,  and  the  yellow  gravelled  way 
shone  clear  and  bricrht  in  the  sun. 


52  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

To  an  American,  used  to  a  hot,  blustering,  and  bewildered 
police,  and  a  hungry,  struggling,  and  offensive  "  independ- 
ent "  crowd,  this  throng  of  intelligent-looking  people,  stand- 
ing quietly  where  they  happened  to  be,  and  waiting  patiently 
for  the  time  and  the  procession  to  pass,  the  sight  was  a  novel- 
one  ;  need  I  add,  most  grateful  ? 

At  half-past  twelve  the  advance-guard  of  the  procession 
appeared,  —  mounted  cuirassiers,  with  shining  steel  breast- 
plates and  helmets,  and  dancing  plumes,  mounted  on  power- 
ful horses,  and  swinging  along  at  a  sharp  pace. 

Next  to  them  came  several  carriages,  with  coachmen  and 
footmen  clothed  in  cocked  hats,  and  fairly  smothered  with 
gold  lace.  But  they  were  covered  carriages  ;  and  the  occu- 
pants, ladies-in-waiting  at  court,  were  but  imperfectly  seen. 

Next  came  dashing  along  another  body  of  moimted  sol- 
diery ;  and  rolling  rapidly  along  after  them  were  the  royal 
carriages,  open,  and  the  occupants  in  full  view.  Next  to  the 
last  carriage  was  the  Princess  of  ^^'ales,  a  pleasant-looking 
lady ;  but  a  host  of  as  well-dressed  and  superior-looking 
women  may  be  seen  any  pleasant  afternoon  in  the  carriages 
of  Central  Park.  Please  bear  in  mind  that  the  a\-erage  Eng- 
lish woman,  in  court  or  tenement,  is  not  handsome ;  and 
don't  get  excited. 

But  about  the  last  carriage  centred  all  the  interest ;  and  it 
was  to  this  the  dense  mass  of  people  on  the  walks  and  in  the 
windows  swung  their  hats  and  handkerchiefs.  On  the  front- 
seat  sat  the  Prince  of  Wales,  heir-apparent  to  the  British 
throne,  and  the  Emperor  of  Russia ;  on  the  back-seat  were 
his  daughter,  and  her  husband  the  Duke  of  Edinburgh. 

I  swallowed  the  emperor  in  at  one  famishing  gulp.  He 
was  a  monarch,  and  the  most  mighty  in  the  world  ;  and  it 
was  a  great  gratification  to  me  to  see  him  in  the  flesh.  But 
there  were  some  disappointments. 

He  had  on  pants. 

This  suri)rised  me.     I  don't  know  why  it  should  ;  only  that 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  53 

I  expected  he  would  look  different  from  any  one  else.  Per- 
haps I  would  have  been  more  surprised  if  he  had  been  with- 
out pants. 

He  also  had  on  coat  and  vest,  and  looked  every  inch  like 
a  well-to-do  banker  rolling  leisurely  down  to  the  bank  in  a 
carriage  presented  to  him  the  night  before  by  a  circle  of  ad- 
miring stockholders. 

That  was  all  there  was  to  it,  excepting  that  the  two  princes 
were  fine-looking  gentlemen,  and  the  emperor's  daughter 
was  a  pretty-faced  girl  of  an  American  cast  of  countenance. 

It  was  all  over  in  a  minute.  Many  of  the  people  were  so 
lost  in  admiration  of  the  gold-laced  coachmen  and  footmen, 
that  they  did  not  recover  in  time  to  note  the  royal  person- 
age. 

The  whole  thing  was  over  in  a  half-minute.  All  this  grav- 
elling of  the  road-bed,  the  monopoly  of  the  police,  the  hours 
of  patient  waiting  by  the  populace,  the  days  of  preparation 
by  the  shopkeepers,  were  all  for  this  brief  half-minute  of 
glory.     How  tame  and  insignificant  the  whole  thing  looked  ! 

The  man  who  paid  four  guineas  for  himself  and  wife  on  a 
front-seat  in  a  shop-window  helped  his  wife  out  of  the  door 
without  much  ceremony,  and  started  direct  for  home,  bump- 
ing up  against  everybody  with  inexplicable  perversity,  and 
finding  that  not  a  single  article  of  his  clothing  fitted  him  in 
any  particular.     So  much  for  a  London  mob. 


54  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

IS   M.VINLY   DEVOTED   TO   DESCRIBING   HOW  TO   GET   ABOUT 
LONDON. 

THERE  are  three  objects  of  desire  to  the  London  visitor. 
One  is  the  Tower  of  London  ;  another  is  St.  Paul's 
Cathedral ;  and  the  third  is  Westminster  Abbey. 

There  are  three  other  objects  he  has  to  see,  whether  he 
wants  to  or  not.  These  are  the  cabmen,  the  hotel  proprie- 
tors, and  the  ser\ants. 

As  it  is  absolutely  necessar)^  to  see  these  last  three  before 
he  can  see  the  first  three,  I  shall  devote  this  letter  to  an  hon- 
est, if  not  flattering,  account  of  them. 

The  first  Englishman  the  traveller  meets  is  a  burly  and 
red-faced  gentleman,  with  a  big  metal  plate  on  his  coat 
(front),  containing  a  number,  mounted  on  the  back  of  a  cab, 
or  the  front  of  a  hackney-carriage. 

He  will  grow  familiar  with  this  chap  by  the  time  he  has 
been  twenty-four  hours  in  London. 

He  will  find  the  race  patrolling  ever}'  back-street,  or  stand- 
ing on  every  important  thoroughfare  ;  and  he  will  come  to 
look  upon  them  i)retty  much  as  a  man  looks  upon  a  dog 
who  has  suddenly  and  most  unexpectedly  snapped  at  his  leg. 

The  reader  will  infer  from  these  few  remarks  that  there  is 
something  objectionable  in  the  London  cabmen ;  and  he  is 
right.  But,  while  I  am  free  to  condemn  the  class,  I  am 
equally  free  to  credit  them  with  one  cardinal  virtue  :  they  are 
not  offensively  familiar. 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  55 

They  are  to  be  found  at  the  depots  ;  but  they  dc  not  block 
the  way,  and  scream  at  you  until  you  are  deafened  and  crazy. 
They  do  not  mix  onions  with  rum  and  tobacco,  and  scorch 
you  with  the  dreadful  simoon.  They  do  not  step  on  you, 
and  jerk  you  off  your  feet,  and  jam  your  hat  over  your  eyes. 
They  do  not  pull  off  your  coat  and  limbs,  and  distribute  your 
baggage  into  five  different  hacks. 

They  are  in  front  of  you,  but  not  under  you.  They  are 
to  the  right  and  to  the  left ;  but  they  open  not  their  mouths. 

The  moment  you  step  out  of  the  cars  into  any  one  of  the 
capacious  depots  in  the  city,  a  railway  porter  asks  you  if 
you  will  have  a  hack,  and  if  you  have  luggage.  He  calls 
the  hack,  and,  with  the  assistance  of  the  driver,  loads  your 
luggage,  loads  yourself,  closes  the  door,  and  touches  his  hat 
to  you ;  and  you  are  off  in  a  jiffy,  feeling  grateful  for  the 
relief  and  attention  ;  while  the  porter  stands  on  the  platform, 
and  curses  you  in  the  bottomest  recesses  of  his  heart  for  not 
giving  him  a  sixpence. 

Such  is  man  when  in  health. 

When  you  reach  the  hotel,  "  the  cabby,"  as  a  hackman  is 
here  called,  jumps  down  with  alacrity,  and,  with  the  assistance 
of  the  hotel  porter,  disembarks  your  luggage  and  yourself, 
charges  you  three  shillings  and  sixpence,  and  is  off  again 
with  an  expression  of  purity  on  his  couiftenance  that  is 
irresistible.  You  have  a  vague  impression  of  reading  on  a 
card  inside  of  the  hackney,  that  any  distance  of  two  miles  or 
less  is  to  be  charged  one  shilling ;  and  you  go  into  the  hotel, 
regretting  that  you  have  not  time  to  stand  on  the  curbstone 
and  give  full  play  to  your  feeKngs. 

It  riiay  be  said  that  this  system  of  extortion  is  common 
to  all  hackmen.  Granted.  But  there  are  features  of  the 
London  system  which  aggravate  it  far  beyond  the  American 
process,  and  make  it  almost  unbearable. 

In  the  first  place,  this,  until  you  become  acquainted  with 
the  omnibus  routes,  is  your  only  means  of  transfer  about  the 


56  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

city ;  and  your  helplessness  is  taken  advantage  of.  Sec- 
ondly, you  are  an  American,  with  the  impress  of  your  na- 
tivity so  indelibly  set  upon  you,  that  no  hackman  fails  to 
take  advantage  of  your  ignorance  of  the  ways  and  customs 
of  the  country ;  and  thus  the  American  citizenship,  upon 
\fhich  you  have  constantly,  loudly,  and  almost  offensively 
prided  yourself,  becomes  a  hated  object  to  you. 

After  you  have  got  into  the  hotel,  and  cooled  down,  you 
find  some  consolation  in  the  reflection  that  you  were  so  help- 
leas,  that  no  hackman  could  be  blamed  for  taking  advantage 
of  you. 

After  this,  however,  you'd  like  to  see  'em,  accompanying 
the  deduction  with  a  movement  of  the  fist  indicative  of  the 
belief  that  you  never  will  see  them  do  it  again. 

There  are  hackneys  and  cabs  :  the  former  are  four-wheel- 
ers, and  the  latter  are  two-wheelers.  The  latter  are  designed 
for  two  occupants.  They  open  in  front,  giving  the  rider  a 
full  view  of  the  street  ahead,  while  the  driver  sits  on  a  perch 
at  the  back.  They  are  much  the  pleasanter  of  the  two  to 
ride  fn ;  but  the  pleasure  is  in  a  measure  modified  by  the 
discussion,  recrimination,  and  perspiration  which  invariably 
follow  the  settling  of  the  fare. 

With  the  four-wheelers  one  plucking  appears  to  be  enough  ; 
and,  once  away  from  the  de'pots,  you  are  confident  to  be 
carried  two  miles  in  any  direction  for  a  shilling. 

You  take  a  Hansom  (two-wheeler)  for  a  half-mile  drive, 
and  throw  the  driver  a  shilling.  He  looks  at  it  in  a  perplexed 
and  commiserative  manner  that  is  beyond  all  imitation,  and 
asks,  — 

"What's  this  for?" 

You  patiently  explain  to  him.  He  says  eighteen-pence  is 
the  fare.  You  protest  that  the  distance  does  not  warrant 
that  charge.  He  is  stubborn.  You  can  force  him,  so  the 
card  says,  to  drive  to  the  nearest  police-station  for  adjudica- 
tion.    But  you  are  a  stranger.     He  may- drive  you  to  the 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  5/ 

first  police-station,  and  he  may  drive  you  over  the  nearest 
embankment. 

You  pay  him  a  sixpence  more,  and  curse  the  government 
under  which  he  thrives. 

As  long  thereafter  as  you  bear  the  mark  of  an  American, 
so  long  will  you  be  subject  to  the  peculative  tendencies  of 
the  Hansom  cab-driver.  The  shilling  goes  to  his  employer ; 
and  the  sixpence  is  laid  up  by  himself  for  a  rainy  day. 

It  rains  a  great  deal  here. 

When  you  have  mastered  the  intricacies  of  the  omnibus 
lines,  travelling  about  the  city  becomes  a  genuine  pleasure. 

The  English  'bus  system  is  superior  to  ours,  both  as  to 
the  comfort  of  the  passengers  and  the  arrimals  who  draw 
them.  On  the  box  with  the  driver  is  accommodation  for 
four  persons.  Running  along  the  roof  are  two  seats,  back 
to  back,  reached  by  ladder  on  each  side  of  the  door. 
Hgre  and  inside  are  sittings  for  a  certain  number  of  people, 
the  number  being  conspicuously  marked  on  the  'bus ;  and, 
when  this  complement  is  made  up,  no  more  are  taken.  Con- 
sequently there  is  no  trodding  of  corns,  or  punches  in  the 
chest,  by  passengers  unable  to  keep  their  feet. 

Each  'bus  has  its  conductor ;  and  the  fares,  plainly  marked 
inside,  are  graded  with  the  distance,  the  lowest  being  two- 
pence, and  the  highest  sixpence. 

The  favorite  place  for  the  masculines  is  on  top  of  the 
'bus,  and  the  best  place  is  on  the  box  alongside  the  driver. 
I  know  of  no  better  point  from  which  to  view  the  people 
than  the  box-seat  of  one  of  their  'buses. 

And  the  driver  is  a  character  in  himself.  Being  naturally 
of  a  confiding  nature,  —  although  you  might  not  suspect  it, 
looking  at  him  from  the  walk,  —  he  thaws  quickly  to  the  man 
at  his  elbow,  and  will  volunteer  bits  of  information,  senti- 
ment, and  opinion,  with  the  greatest  freedom.  He  is  appar- 
ently a  reckless  driver,  and  so  are  all  the  English  drivers ; 
yet,  with  all  my  riding  about,  I  saw  but  one  collision,  and 
that,  being  by  a  'bus  with  a  cab,  was  easily  understood. 


58  ENGLAND    FROM    A    RACK-WINDOW. 

Between  tlie  'bus-driver  and  the  cabman  there  is  a  rancor- 
ous feeHng  of  hatred,  which  is  most  grateful  to  all  the  senses 
of  the  traveller  who  has  suffered  at  the  hands  of  the  latter, 
because  the  motive-power  and  wheels  of  the  former  are  so 
much  greater  and  heavier,  that  the  utter  discomforture  of 
the  latter  is  a  sure  thing  in  the  event  of  their  coming  together. 

I  have  sat  on  the  box  for  an  hour  at  a  time,  and  heard 
the  driver  curse  the  "  cabbies,"  and  crowd  them  out  of  the 
way,  until  it  did  seem  as  if  my  cup  of  happiness  was  running 
over,  and  drowning  people. 

And  then  to  see  the  wTath  of  the  cabby  as  he  takes  him- 
self out  of  the  way  of  the  ponderous  and  unrelenting  wheels 
would  make  a  -dead  man  laugh,  were  he  not  otherwise 
engaged. 

I  cannot  explain  why  this  animosity  exists  between  the 
two  classes  ;  but  it  does  exist ;  and  this  fact  should  content 
us,  without  desiring  to  pry  into  its  causes. 

I  use  the  term  "  cursing  "  unadvisedly,  perhaps.  We  un- 
derstand, by  that,  profanity  ;  but  the  English  are  not  given  to 
"profanity."  Whether  this  is  because  of  there  being  no 
stoves  here,  or  because  of  their  religious  training,  I  am  not 
prepared  to  state.  But  they  do  not  take  the  name  of  their 
God  in  vain.  It  is  rarely  you  hear  it  done  in  London,  or 
among  the  better  classes  anywhere  in  England.  They  are 
profuse  with  their  "  blarsted,"  and  "  bloody,"  and  "  dom," 
but  nothing  more  serious. 

But  they  have  a  way  of  saying  tliese,  when  in  a  hurry,  that 
rarely  fails  of  scaring  the  target,  especially  if  that  target  is  a 
stranger. 

On  the  'bus  you  will  hear  such  pleasant  admonitions  as 
these  delivered  to  people  or  teams  in  the  way  :  "  Come,  now, 
where  are  you?"  "Whey  there,  blockhead  !  "  "Look  sharj), 
cawn't  you?"  "  Don't  go  to  sleej),  old  man  !  "  and  the  like, 
all  pronounced  willi  a  breadth  of  accent  calculated  to  elec- 
trify the  most  stolid. 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  59 


CHAPTER    IX. 


LIVING   IN   LONDON. 


HOW  to  live  while  in  London  is  certainly  a  matter  of 
some  moment.  The  claim,  and  it  is  neither  rare  nor 
unostentatious,  that  living  is  much  cheaper  in  London  than 
in  New  York,  is  without  a  vestige  of  truth  to  cover  its  naked 
and  repulsive  form.     (Copyright  secured.) 

The  European  hotel  system  is  much  different  from  the 
American  hotel  system,  as  we  all  know  ;  but  the  difference  is 
not  entirely  in  the  way  the  meals  are  served.  But  of  that 
anon. 

There  are  four  ways  of  living  here,  —  the  British- American 
hotel,  the  English  inn,  the  boarding-house,  and  the  lodging. 

The  first-named  is  American  only  in  the  particular  of  size. 
Believing  that  Americans  want  something  vast,  Londoners 
have  put  up  several  hotels  to  meet  this  want,  and  there 
stopped.  And  so  we  have  ponderous  halls,  with  nothing 
to  sit  down  upon ;  colossal  offices  filled  with  baggage,  void 
of  settees,  and  enlivened  by  an  occasional  time-table ;  and 
massive  sitting-rooms,  all  pillars  and  tapestry.  There  is  a 
place  to  sleep,  and  a  place  to  eat,  and  a  place  to  shut  your- 
self in  and  smoke,  —  as  if  smoking  was  a  penance  to  be  un- 
dergone in  solitude  and  bitterness,  —  and  that  is  all. 

There  is  no  bar  (you  drink  in  the  smoking-room),  no 
sociable  sitting-room,  no  bustling  and  cheerful  office,  no 
place  to  lounge  about   in  and  chat.     In  fact,  the  British- 


60  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

American  liotel  is  a  huge  sepulchre,  about  whose  door  there 
is  no  life  nor  animation.  The  guest  has  the  pleasure  of 
walking  in  marble  halls,  and  there  the  entertainment  ceases. 

The  clerk  of  the  house  is  a  woman,  —  a  young  woman, 
invariably  dressed  in  black,  with  black  hair  and  eyes,  and  a 
face  suggestive  of  a  severe  attack  of  neuralgia.  She  is  the 
same  in  one  part  of  London  as  in  the  other,  in  Liverpool 
as  in  London  ;  dresses  the  same,  and  looks  the  same.  The 
singular  uniformity  makes  you  uneasy  after  a  while,  and  fills 
you  with  an  aching  desire  to  return  home. 

What  kind  of  a  way  is  this,  I  would  like  to  know,  to  play 
^vith  travellers?  It  is  taking  a  mean  advantage  of  the  chiv- 
akous  American  nature  to  have  his  bills  made  out,  and  his 
wants  snubbed,  by  a  person  he  can't  swear  at. 

The  genuine  English  inn,  of  which  there  are  ver)'  few  in 
London,  is  much  superior  to  the  hotel  we  have  just  disposed 
of.  Its  prime  object  is  comfort ;  and  while  its  bill  of  fare 
is  not  exactly  what  we  have  been  used  to,  yet  the  effort 
of  its  people  to  make  every  thing  pleasant  and  CQnvenient 
is  so  apparent,  that  we  feel  as  much  at  home  as  is  possible 
for  one  to  feel  in  a  hotel. 

The  boarding-house  is  just  what  a  boarding-house  is  any- 
where, in  one  particular,  —  you  pay  so  much  a  week  for 
lodgings  and  meals.  If  you  are  away  from  meals,  it  is  not 
deducted ;  if  you  are  too  late  for  a  hot  meal,  and  have  a 
cold  one  sensed  up  to  you  instead,  it  is  charged  against  you  ; 
if  you  have  coffee  or  tea  at  dinner  or  luncheon,  it  is  charged 
against  you.  The  "  extras  "  are  a  sort  of  electrical  battery, 
which  is  turned  on  you  every  Saturday  night,  and  makes  you 
squirm  in  spite  of  yourself.  The  lodging  is  a  sleeping-room  to 
be  obtained  in  any  quarter  of  the  city.  The  meals  are  served 
at  the  house  where  your  room  is,  or  you  can  get  then^  from 
some  neighboring  coffee-room.  This  is  a  favorite  way  of 
living  here,  both  with  the  natives  and  visitors.  The  coffee 
or  dining  rooms  are  numerous,  but  not  so  comfortable  as  are 
ours. 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  6l 

The  "  European  plan  "  as  it  is  understood  in  America, 
and  tlie  "  European  plan  "  as  it  is  understood  by  Europeans 
themselves,  has  points  of  difference  that  are  most  frightfully 
conspicuous. 

In  the  English  city  hotel  you  go  into  the  coffee-room  and 
give  your  order  for  the  meal,  and  then  wait  until  it  is  cooked. 
The  bill  of  fare  mentions  simply  the  principal  dishes  attaina- 
ble ;  such  as  fish,  joint,  and  entire  for  dinner ;  for  breakfast, 
cold  or  hot  meats ;  for  luncheon,  the  same  as  for  breakfast. 

Roast  is  the  acceptable  mode  of  preparing  meat  here,  and 
you  are  bombarded  with  roast  beef  until  you  fairly  hate  to 
hear  the  name  (this  refers  more  especially  to  cold  roast  beef) . 
Steak,  measuring  full  two  inches  in  thickness,  is  broiled  around 
the  edges  very  nicely.  Fish  and  cutlets  are  well  cooked. 
These  English  are  just  as  conservative  in  eating  as  in  any 
thing  else  they  undertake,  and  look  not  with  friendly  eyes 
upon  innovation  and  variety.  Their  meals  are  hearty  but 
plain,  the  principal  ingredients  being  roast  meat  and  ale  or 
wine.  Those  who  have  tried  the  American  bill  of  fare, 
with  its  wonderful  variety  of  dishes,  and  "  all  the  delicacies 
of  the  season,"  affect  to  despise  it :  they  speak  disdainfully 
of  it  as  being  "  a  mass  of  stuff  in  httle  plates,"  which,  eaten  or 
not,  is  paid  for.  Ah,  heavens  !  how  I  would  like  an  oppor- 
tunity to  personally  despise  a  few  of  those  meals  ! 

If  you  go  into  an  American  restaurant  and  order  a  plate 
of  food,  it  is  given  you,  with  vegetable  accompaniments,  and 
bread  and  butter :  if  you  order  it  at  an  English  restaurant, 
you  get  just  the  specified  dish  of  food,  and  nothing  else. 
But  you  will  find  no  difference  in  the  price  favorable  to  the 
English  mode.  If  you  want  vegetables,  you  specify  the  kind, 
and  get  them,  and  pay  for  each.  If  you  want  butter,  that 
is  also  furnished  you  upon  a  notice  to  that  effect,  and  promptly 
charged  against  you. 

And  both  restaurants  are  conducted  on  the  "  European 
plan."     What  you  order  you  get,  and  only  that. 


62  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW, 

Tlie  abniptncss  with  wliich  the  supply  snaps  off  close  to 
the  demand  is  sometimes  startling. 

Their  loaf-bread  has  a  flavor  to  it  difficult  to  describe.  It 
is  solid,  but  not  heavy ;  queer,  but  not  sour.  They  cut  it 
up  into  square  or  three-cornered  hunks,  and  serve  it  without 
butter ;  in  which  condition  it  is  the  most  solemn  article  of 
food  I  ever  saw. 

The  trouble  with  the  bread  is  that  it  is  stale.  Fresh  bread, 
they  claim,  is  not  fit  for  the  stomach. 

I  learned  this  by  accident.  Ordering  a  plate  of  bread 
and  butter  for  tea,  the  landlady  appeared  to  explain,  with 
many  apologies,  that  she  had  nothing  but  fresh  bread  in  the 
house. 

Fresh  bread ! 

And  so  it  was  stale  bread  that  I  had  been  attacking  the 
citadels  of  my  life  with,  and  driving  my  brain  into  chaos  in 
hopeless  endeavor  to  fathom  its  nature. 

I  told  the  landlady  to  bring  in  a  few  slices  of  the  fresh 
article,  und  we  would  try  to  worry  it  down. 

I  believe  we  did. 

When  the  American  leaves  his  native  country  to  come  to 
England,  he  leaves  pie  behind. 

I  have  been  to  some  of  the  print-shops  to  see  if  they  have 
any  pictures  of  pies  ;  but  I  can  find  none. 

They  have  photographs  in  profusion  of  the  royal  family, 
and  eminent  men  of  Church  and  State  ;  but  the  pie  of  my 
native  land  is  forgotten.  It  is  a  negative,  but  not  a  photog- 
rapher's negative. 

On  their  tables  they  have  tarts,  compounded  in  a  way 
similar  to  our  pies,  and  baked  in  deep  dishes.  And  thus 
they  have  rhubarb,  gooseberry,  and  apple  tarts ;  but  they  are 
poor  substitutes. 

I  see  plenty  of  cake  in  the  bakers'  windows ;  but  I  pre- 
sume it  is  entirely  consumed  by  private  enteqirise,  as  neither 
at  the  hotels  nor  boarding-houses  do  I  find  it  on  the  table. 
They  are  wonderfully  carefiil  of  the  American  digestion. 


ENGLANn    FROM    A    RACK-WINDOW.  63 

But  they  do  have  cauhflower ;  yes,  I  am  quite  sure  they 
have  cauhflower.  If  I  am  not  greatly  mistaken,  th'ey  have  it 
every  day.  I  feel  safe  in  saying  that  one  man  will  eat,  in  the 
course  of  a  year,  about  four  tons  of  boiled  cauliflower.  He 
will  do  it,  unless  he  gets  a  pistol  and  takes  the  law  in  his 
own  hands. 

Living  is  not  cheaper  here  than  it  is  in  the  States.  Board 
and  lodging  at  the  hotels  is  about  three  dollars  a  day  in  gold  ; 
at  the  boarding-house,  about  twelve  dollars  a  week.  In  nei- 
ther of  these  quotations  are  the  extras  included ;  and  they 
quite  frequently  amount  to  a  third  of  the  regular  charge. 

Most  people  rent  rooms  for  lodging,  and  take  their  meals 
at  the  restaurant.  In  a  respectable  portion  of  the  city  a 
room  costs  from  three  to  eight  dollars  a  week,  and  the  meals 
not  less  than  fifty  cents  each.  I  don't  know  but  that  a 
single  man  can  "  grub  around  "  at  about  eight  or  nine  dollars 
a  week ;  but  the  cost  of  taking  in  his  clothes  would  about 
balance  the  saving. 


64  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 


CHAPTER  X. 


GOING  TO   THE   DERBY. 


I  SHALL  commence  this  at  the  beginning,  and  strive  to 
write  it  calmly  and  coherently. 

If  I  should  let  run  the  enthusiasm  I  feel,  if  I  should  grasp 
the  pencil,  with  the  blood  jumping  through  my  veins  as  it 
does  jump  when  I  think  of  that  glorious  event  now  scarcely 
twenty-four  hours  old,  there  would  be  no  intelligible  account 
of  the  grand  carnival  in  this  letter ;  but  it  woukkbe  a  mere 
chaos  of  black  and  white,  with  no  form  nor  comeliness ;  a 
perfect  wreck ;  a  simple  newspaper  map  of  the  Chicago  fire, 
as  it  were. 

The  opening  of  the  London  season,  the  coming  of  the 
Czar,  did  not  crowd  the  great  city  to  the  same  extent  as  did 
the  day  of  the  Derby. 

Every  hotel  was  thronged,  and  every  lodging-house  full. 
The  visitor  who  left  his  hotel  accommodation  till  the  day 
before  found  himself  an  unprofitable  wanderer  of  the  streets 
until  the  sun  of  Derby  day  arose. 

At  promptly  quarter-past  eight  o'clock  that  morning,  myself 
and  several  friends  reported  at  our  booking-place  ;  and,  tak- 
ing seats  on  top  of  a  pleasure-van  drawn  by  four  good  English 
horses,  we  drove  down  through  Charing  Cross,  across  Westr 
minster  Bridge,  and  swung  out  into  the  current  to  the 
Derby. 

It  was  a  splendid  day.     A  sharp  rain  in  the  night  had  laid 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  65 

the  dust,  cooled  the  fever  of  the  earth,  and  moistened  and 
refreshed  every  spear  of  grass,  and  every  root  and  twig. 

It  was  scarcely  nine  o'clock,  and  the  particular  race  called 
the  Derby  (the  foolish  people  here  call  it  the  Dardy)  was 
not  to  come  off  until  nearly  six  hours  later ;  yet  the  street 
through  which  we  were  passing  to  Epsom  Downs  was  already 
alive  with  traps,  and  every  feeding  avenue  was  contributing 
to  swell  the  current. 

And  such  a  current !  There  was  the  gayly-painted  pleas- 
ure 'bus ;  the  steady-going  city  'bus ;  the  dashing  four-in- 
hand  drag,  with  the  passengers  all  outside,  and  the  richly 
upholstered  inside  filled  with  hampers  (baskets)  of  food  for 
the  stomach,  and  jugs  and  bottles  of  food  for  reflection  ;  the 
two-wheeled  dog-cart,  with  four  occupants  back  to  back ; 
the  two-wheeled  car,  like  the  half  of  a  muskmelon-shell,  with 
its  four  occupants  face  to  face,  and  smiling  like  mad ;  the 
stylish  barouche  ;  the  sober  hackney-coach  ;  the  impudent 
and  never-to-be-forgiven  Hansom,  with  its  Capt.  Kidd  at 
the  back,  and  its  pair  of  outraged  victims  in  the  front,  hold- 
ing up  a  basket  of  victuals,  and  yelUng  like  demons ;  the 
steady-going  one-horse  chaise  ;  the  carriage  of  the  aristocrat, 
with  dumpy,  gnarled,  and  grotesquely-jacketed  postilions 
jumping  along  with  features  as  immovable  as  the  works  of 
a  cheap  watch ;  the  little  pony  phaeton ;  the  quaint  cart  of 
the  costermonger,  with  the  costermonger  himself,  and  the 
costermonger's  wife  and  the  costermonger's  children,  as 
boisterous  a  crowd  as  is  on  the  street  we  are  now  cantering 
along  at  a  lively  pace. 

There  are  other  traps  of  different  kinds  with  whose  cog- 
nomens I  have  no  acquaintance,  but  all  looking  clean  and 
nice,  and  none  worked  up  for  the  occasion,  as  is  the  case  of 
our  carr>'alls  metamorphosed  from  dirt-wagons,  and  embel- 
lised  with  cheap  colored  paper. 

The  English  gentleman  thinks  a  great  deal  of  his  horse, 
and  wants  a  trap  that  will  bear  him  proper  company. 


66  ENGLAND    FROM    A    RACK-WINDOW. 

We  are  getting  out  of  the  bustle  and  rattle  of  the  city 
now,  and  are  bowling  along  through  little  brick  hamlets,  by 
glorious  hedges,  brick-walled  gardens,  and  staring  but  merry 
people. 

Everybody  knows  it  is  the  Derby,  the  great  race  day  of 
England,  and  famous  the  world  over ;  and  everybody  from 
far  and  near  is  going  to  Epsom  Downs,  or  is  here  along  the 
roadside,  watching  the  thousands  who  are  more  fortunate. 

We  are  out  on  the  road  now ;  and  there  are  two  streams 
of  horses  and  traps  pouring  toward  the  race,  but  not  a  soli- 
tary trap  coming  the  other  way. 

We  have  got  the  road  all  to  ourselves ;  and  from  the  top 
of  our  van  we  can  see  in  both  directions  a  moving  black 
mass,  with  here  and  there  a  white  dress  or  hat,  or  a  colored 
parasol,  to  relieve  the  darkness. 

Along  the  roadside  are  hurrying  pedestrians ;  and  boys 
who  turn  somersaults,  and  disclose  the  wTong  side  of  their 
pants,  for  the  trifling  sum  of  a  penny  from  some  good- 
natured  party  ;  and  filthy-looking  women,  with  dirty  babies  in 
their  arms,  begging,  for  the  love  of  God,  for  a  penny  to  buy 
food,  and  swearing  like  a  trooper  when  the  occasion  recjuired. 

Here  and  there  is  a  weary  child,  ragged  and  soiled,  curled 
up  on  the  cool  grass,  and  fast  asleep,  dreaming  of  the  glory 
that  his  little  legs  have  failed  to  bring  him  to  ;  and  by  him  or 
over  him  step  the  walking  throng,  hesitating  not  to  "chaff" 
broadcloth  and  satin,  but  careful  not  to  disturb  the  sleep 
of  tired  rags. 

What  a  grand  impulse  is  this  of  a  hurrying,  giddy  English 
throng  to  guard  the  slumber  of  a  soiled  and  tattered  waif ! 
And  he  thus  sleeping,  unconscious  of  the  haste,  the  noise, 
and  the  shrill  gayety  passing  about  and  over  him,  rests  as 
quietly  and  retired  as  if  on  the  roof  of  Schuyler  Colfax's 
house.  Miserable  boy  !  how  can  he  be  so  hajjpy  under  a 
monarchical  form  of  government? 

I  could  not  help  but  think,  if  he  had  been  on  a  Yankee 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  6/ 

road,  going  to  a  Yankee  race,  the  case  would  have  assumed 
a  different  aspect.  Even  the  recording  angel  would  have 
some  difficulty  in  accounting  for  him. 

The  farther  we  left  London  behind,  the  denser  became  the 
crowd  of  vehicles,  and  the  more  numerous  grew  the  hampers 
and  jugs.  Facetious  individuals  with  false  noses  and  false 
whiskers  attract  a  torrent  of  observation  ;  and  every  one  pass- 
ing or  being  passed  was  screamed  at,  and  screamed  back 
again,  until  our  faces  were  as  red  as  a  country  schoolhouse, 
and  our  throats  too  sore  to  breathe  through. 

Here  and  there  on  the  way  was  a  public-house,  whose  pres- 
ence was  made  known  by  the  momentary  blockading  of  the 
road,  created  by  the  teams  turning  up  to  its  door ;  and,  rat- 
tling by  them,  we  see  all  the  paraphernalia  of  a  boisterous 
crowd  enjoying  itself.  Here  are  several  traps  unloading; 
others  spreading  a  lunch,  or  balancing  bottles  and  jugs ; 
hostlers  sponging  the  noses  of  the  animals ;  postilions  run- 
ning about ;  people  shouting  and  laughing  their  way  in  and 
out  of  the  house  ;  negro  minstrels  making  discordant  uproar 
on  inoffensive  instruments ;  and  waiters,  drivers,  and  passen- 
gers butting  into  each  other,  and  trying  to  get  in  a  rage, 
but  ignominiously  failing. 

Pretty  soon  we  came  in  sight  of  the  railroad,  and  saw 
train  after  train,  loaded  to  its  fullest  canning  capacity,  shoot- 
ing rapidly  across  the  landscape,  and  on  the  way  to  Epsom. 

It  was  now  noon  ;  but  the  people  were  not  tired.  Three 
full  hours  we  had  been  on  the  way ;  but  there  was  no  abate- 
ment of  the  spirit  or  chaffing. 

Every  odd  man,  every  man  with  two  women  when  he 
ought  to  have  had  but  one,  every  man  with  no  woman,  every 
woman  with  a  sunshade,  every  woman  without  a  sunshade, 
ever}'body  in  general,  everybody  in  particular,  was  chaffed. 

It  was  a  day  when  all  England  was  democratic  ;  when  no 
man  became  responsible  for  his  language  or  actions,  as  long 
as  he  confined  them  within  the  bounds  of  decency. 


68  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

To  an  American  unused  to  such  license  and  have  it  legal, 
iniused  to  such  boundless  good-nature  in  a  mob  and  have 
it  universal,  the  scene  was  most  inspiring. 

Being  an  American,  I  banged  my  heels  into  the  roof  of 
the  'bus,  and  laughed  like  a  lunatic. 

I  was  laughing  like  that  when  we  came  in  sight  of  the 
downs,  the  grand  stand,  the  picketed  carriages,  the  booths, 
and  the  bubbling  confusion  of  a  great  concourse  of  people. 

This  was  the  racing-ground  at  Epsom,  —  the  Downs,  so 
called. 

From  familiarity  with  a  place  through  notable  events  con- 
nected with  it,  we  are  apt  to  ascribe  to  it  features  peculiar  to 
the  events  in  question,  and  which  are  not  common  to  any 
other  place. 

Yet,  after  all,  the  Derby  is  but  one  race  of  many  scores  .on 
a  race-track.  Epsom  Downs  is  a  piece  of  open  country. 
The  greater  portion  of  the  track  is  on  the  slope  of  a  ridge, 
which  has  a  similar  slope  opposite.  The  track  is  full  a  hun- 
dred feet  in  breadth,  I  should  think,  and  is  of  turf,  not  in 
any  way  distinguishable  from  any  portion  of  the  downs. 
The  racing  is  in  the  saddle,  and  not  by  driving. 

There  is  nothing  remarkable  about  the  turf,  or  the  earth 
under  it,  or  the  trees  and  hedges  in  the  distance.  They  are 
just  like  other  turf,  other  earth,  and  other  trees  and  hedges 
seen  from  a  distance. 

No  one,  unless  mounted  on  the  grand  stand,  can  see  the 
whole  track  at  one  view.  A  ridge  in  the  centre  obstructs  the 
view,  but  affords  room  for  eating-booths  and  extraordinary 
side-shows. 

I  am  not  over  here  to  describe  the  race,  the  wagers,  the 
time,  or  the  emotions  of  the  beholders.  These  are  matters 
the  interested  are  already  acquainted  with  in  the  daily  ixijK'rs. 
I  merely  tell  what  I  saw  among  the  people  j  for  that  was  all 
new  to  me,  and  entertained  me. 

Yet  wherever  I  might  go,  I  could  see  only  a  part  of  the 


ENGLAND  FROM  A  BACK-WINDOW,        69 

track.  Shortly  after  our  arrival,  a  race  came  off.  I  was 
right  in  front  of  the  grand  stand,  and  flattered  myself  that  I 
was  taking  it  all  in. 

I  had  about  six  square  inches  of  room,  and  was  enjoying 
myself.    Pretty  soon  there  was  a  cry  of  "  Here  they  come  !  " 

The  crowd,  which  had  up  to  this  instant  remained  com- 
paratively quiet,  here  commenced  to  agitate ;  and,  from  tr}dng 
to  see  the  race,  I  came  to  having  a  well-grounded  anxiety  as 
to  whether  I  should  ever  see  my  childhood's  home  again. 

I  lost  all  interest  in  the  race ;  in  fact,  I  forgot  all  about  it 
for  a  moment,  and  fell  to  struggling  with  the  mass  to  save  my 
Ufe. 

The  more  I  kicked  and  pushed  and  protested,  the  narrow- 
er space  I  was  penned  into.     I  began  to  feel  scared. 

I  told  several  of  the  people  about  me,  that,  if  they  didn't 
quit  pushing,  I  would  bring  them  before  the  highest  tribunal 
in  the  land  ;  but  it  had  no  visible  effect  upon  them  ;  although 
we  cannot  look  into  the  hearts  of  men,  and  tell  what  they 
suffer,  especially  in  such  a  crowd  as  I  was  now  in. 

But  the  race  was  over  in  a  moment ;  and  the  crowd  surged 
away  to  the  paddocks,  leaving  me  a  chance  to  get  out  and 
feel  of  myself.  I  lost  no  time  in  getting  across  the  course 
through  the  line  of  carriages  on  the  other  side,  and  up  the 
sloping  ridge  to  the  amusement  and  eating  vans.  In  front 
of  these  there  were  not  now  many  people  ;  and  here  I  could 
sit  on  the  turf,  and  shake  my  fist  (figuratively)  at  the  black 
mass  of  people  opposite,  and  the  white  mass  of  masonry 
back  of  them. 

I  imagine  racing  in  England  occupies  a  more  elevated 
position  than  racing  in  America.  Here  among  this  throng 
were  nobles,  priests,  and  peasants,  everybody  excited,  every- 
body thoroughly  interested. 

There  were  other  features  different  from  the  same  scene 
on  American  grounds.  There  was  a  great  deal  of  loud  talk- 
ing and  swindling,  and  grit  in  the  ham  sandwiches  ;  but  there 


70  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

were  no  broils.  When  one  man  fell  over  another,  he 
didn't  move  away  without  explaining  "  what  in  h — 11  he  did 
that  for ; "  but  he  turned  around  and  said,  "  Beg  pardon, 
sir ;  "  and  the  other  man  said,  "  All  right,"  and  brushed  him- 
self off  without  any  ado. 

There  were  impossible  feats  on  the  horizontal  bar,  of  course, 
and  wild  Indians,  and  men  with  one  eye  in  the  middle  of 
their  valuable  heads  (which  with  two  good  eyes  would  not 
be  worth  any  thing),  and  other  monstrosities;  but  these  are 
common  to  all  countries  which  are  civilized  and  have  reli- 
gious freedom. 

But  there  were  other  sights  which  I  never  saw  before,  and 
wliicli  interested  me  by  their  novelty.  The  most  favorite 
recreation  was  the  cocoanut  game.  It  consisted  of  ten  to 
twenty  stakes  (the  number  varying  according  to  the  capital 
of  the  proprietor)  held  upright  in  baskets  of  earth,  and  sus- 
taining each  a  cocoanut.  Back  of  these,  as  a  guard,  was 
stretched  a  strip  of  canvas.  There  were  also  a  number  of 
stakes,  about  fifteen  inches  in  length,  to  be  thrown  at  the 
stakes  holding  the  cocoanuts.  A  penny  entitled  the  thirster 
after  cocoanut  to  three  of  the  short  stakes.  The  cocoanuts 
were  placed  in  a  line,  with  a  space  of  five  feet  between  them. 
The  thrower  stood  at  the  front,  about  thirty  feet  ofif,  and, 
having  spit  on  his  hands,  fired  away. 

If  he  knocked  down  a  stake,  and  the  cocoanut  fell  outside 
of  the  basket,  he  was  entitled  to  the  luxury.  I  don't  know 
how  the  proprietor  (who  stood  among  tlie  stakes,  anil  reset 
them  as  they  fell  over)  mounted  those  cocoanuts  ;  but  it  was 
rarely  that  one  of  them  dropped  outside  the  small  basket. 

They  went  in  there  with  a  precision  that  was  highly  exas- 
perating to  the  thrower,  who,  however  inilifferent  he  pretend- 
ed to  feel  at  the  commencement  of  the  game,  grew  deadly 
in  earnest  as  he  saw  his  chances  dwindling. 

When  several  people  engaged  in  the  i)lay  at  once  at  a  sin- 
gle stand,  it  made  lively  work  for  the  proprietor  down  among 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  7 1 

the  standing  and  flying  stakes.  His  own  cocoanut  appeared 
to  be  the  only  one  he  was  in  danger  of  losing. 

I  don't  know  how  it  would  feel  to  be  struck  in  the  pit  of 
the  stomach  with  one  of  those  stakes ;  for,  although  I  had 
some  curiosity  to  learn,  I  carefully  smothered  the  feeling. 
But  I  imagine,  from  their  weight  (about  two  pounds),  that  a 
man  running  against  one  with  his  abdomen  would  have  a 
very  large  and  respectable  funeral,  although  he  might  not 
get  around  in  time  to  attend  it  himself. 

I  have  said  there  was  a  canvas  guard  up  to  prevent  the 
stakes  from  flying  too  far,  or  hitting  imiocent  people.  Once 
in  a  while  a  stake  hurled  by  some  vehement  admirer  of  cocoa- 
nuts  would  go  over  the  canvas,  and  alight  among  people  who 
never  pretended  not  to  feel  surprised  by  the  occurrence. 

One  man  kept  at  the  sport  until  he  won  five  cocoanuts. 

I  am  thankful  to  this  hour  that  I  did  not  have  to  sleep 
with  him  that  night. 

Some  of  the  proprietors  used  sawdust  cushions  and  cheap 
dolls  in  place  of  the  nuts. 

Once  in  a  while  some  lady  would  try  her  hand  at  throwing 
the  clubs.  When  she  commenced,  every  married  man  left 
the  neighborhood  with  precipitation.  The  others  remained 
until  they  got  flattened  out  with  a  wipe  along  the  jaw ;  wlifcn 
they  jumped  up,  and  left  too. 

One  lady  in  throwing  a  stake  struck  an  aunt  by  marriage, 
and  broke  in  two  of  her  teeth.  The  aunt  was  standing  in 
rear  of  her,  and,  having  got  a  tent  between  both,  thought  she 
was  comparatively  secure.  It  only  teaches  us  how  mutable 
are  the  things  of  this  earth.  I  don't  suppose  the  people  on 
the  grand  stand  were  really  safe  at  the  time. 

There  was  the  game  of  skillets,  a  sort  of  clumsy  ninepins, 
the  pins  being  knocked  over  by  a  huge  flat  circular  block  of 
lignumvitae  thrown  by  a  person  standing  off  some  eight  or 
ten  feet. 

The  platforms  used  were  of  coarse  boards ;  and,  when  the 


72  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

pins  came  down  among  them,  a  stranger  with  his  back  to 
the  afTair  was  easily  pardoned  for  jumping  straight  up  in  the 
air  without  premeditation. 

There  were  all  sorts  of  people  about  me,  and  most  all  Eng- 
lish. There  were  men  with  heavy  top-boots,  and  others  with 
leggings,  and  others  in  full  suits  of  velveteen,  and  others 
with  knee-breeches,  and  many  in  corduroy,  and  a  few  with 
flaming  red  vests  reaching  down  to  their  hips, 

I  didn't  hear  the  uproarious  bluster  in  the  betting,  char- 
acteristic of  the  few  American  races  a  kind  Providence  has 
permitted  me  to  attend.  The  excitement  of  the  men  in  the 
wagering  was  of  that  intense  kind  that  permitted  of  but  little 
nt)isy  escape.  But  enormous  sums  were  exchanged  in  a  very 
quiet  way ;  and  the  losers  didn't  make  any  complaint,  al- 
though they  sought  to  exert  no  control  over  their  lower  jaws. 

I  was  standing  on  this  central  ridge  I  speak  of,  and  oppo- 
site the  grand  stand  and  its  thronged  wings,  when  the  Derby 
race  took  place.  I  saw  the  horses  go  around  to  take  the 
position  (for  they  do  not  start  from  the  grand  stand,  and 
make  the  circuit  of  the  course  in  a  heat,  but  take  position 
back,  and  make  but  three-quarters  of  the  course,  and  wind 
up  at  the  grand  stand)  ;  and  knowing  it  to  be  the  Derby, 
the  famous  Derby,  I  watched  the  proceedings  intently. 
Away  up  the  course,  on  each  side,  was  a  mass  of  speckled 
black  and  gray,  which  were  the  people.  The  course  could 
not  be  seen  for  the  mullitude  ;  for  they  thronged  every  space. 
Then  the  police,  the  wonderfully  cfificient  London  police, 
swooi)ed  down  upon  the  occupiers  of  the  course  ;  and,  in  a 
very  few  moments,  not  a  single  human  foot  pressed  its  soft 
turf.  It  was  free,  and  shone  up  among  the  dense  mass  of 
I)eople  like  an  emerald  band  around  the  neck  of  a  mortified 
individual.     A  rather  pretty  simile,  I  take  it. 

All  of  us  strained  our  eyes  to  the  long  sweep  of  course 
visible  to  us.  Every  breath  seemed  to  be  held  in  abeyance  ; 
aud  for  a  full  moment  there  waa  a  dead  silence,  where  but 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    liACK-WINDOW,  73 

an  instant  before  was  a  Babel  of  voices.  Then  came  the  cry 
of  "  There  they  come  !  "  And,  sure  enough,  there  they  came 
around  the  turn,  —  the  fleet  horses,  with  their  monkeyish 
attired  jockeys  on  their  backs,  just  as  you  have  seen  it  in  the 
pubHc  prints  a  score  of  times. 

The  tails  of  the  animals  stuck  straight  out,  and  they  tore 
down  that  course  as  if  some  cruel  devil  had  been  fooling 
around  them  with  lighted  camphene.  We  could  see  them 
bound  over  the  greensward  between  the  lines  of  the  massed 
humanity,  and  hear  the  shouts  of  the  people  as  the  red  shirt, 
and  blue  shirt,  and  white  shirt,  and  yellow  shirt  whizzed 
past. 

Then  they  reached  the  grand  stand ;  and  the  black  and 
gray  multitude  surged  like  a  stormy  sea  into  the  course 
again,  and  moved  irresistibly  up  to  that  point. 

The  great  Derby  was  over ;  the  event  of  the  year  had 
gone  to  be  numbered  with  the  past ;  and  thousands  of  pounds 
were  lost  and  won,  and  thousands  of  expectations  realized 
and  blasted. 

And,  after  that,  the  enormous  throng  of  people,  with  their 
twenty  thousand  vehicles,  began  to  look  about  for  the  home- 
start  ;  and  from  that  time  until  near  midnight  the  huge  army 
was  in  motion. 

Many  hundreds  of  people  had  come  to  Epsom  by  the 
cars  to-day  who  had  previously  gone  by  road.  On  this  day 
there  can  be  no  class  distinctions  in  the  trains, — the  greasy 
and  dirty  and  profane  crowd  in  with  the  clean,  the  upright, 
and  the  decent ;  but  the  dust  of  the  road  is  so  blinding  and 
strangulating,  that  many  run  the  risk  of  indecent  language 
and  putrefied  breaths  to  get  rid  of  the  dust. 

But  it  had  rained  the  night  before,  and  the  road  out  was 
as  free  of  dust  as  the  kitchen  of  a  New-England  farmhouse ; 
yet  many  of  the  gentlemen  taking  the  road  had  provided 
green  veils,  which  were  idly  twisted  about  their  black  and 
white  hats,  and  added  a  picturesque  effect  to  the  scene. 


74  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

If  the  drive  out  was  a  season  of  gayety,  the  drive  in  was  a 
grand  carnival. 

The  frolic  now  became  more  definitely  boisterous.  Each 
of  the  drags,  and  many  of  the  omnibuses,  were  provided 
with  bugles.  Scores  of  men  had  taken  on  false  noses  and 
whiskers,  or  adorned  themselves  with  little  wooden  dolls  of 
pliable  limbs,  which  they  worked  in  all  directions,  according 
as  their  taste  suggested,  or  the  occasion  seemed  to  demand. 
These  dolls  were  stuck  in  their  hat-bands,  pinned  to  their 
breasts,  or  held  in  the  hand.  I  do  not  doubt  that  tliere 
were  at  least  five  thousand  of  them  on  the  line  homewards. 
It  is  an  odd  conceit ;  but  crowds  are  given  to  odd  conceits. 

There  was  also  another  feature  of  the  procession  which 
was  not  quite  so  harmless  as  that  of  the  dolls.  It  was  the 
pea-shooters  with  which  the  outside  passengers  had  provided 
themselves,  and  busily  used  on  passing  fellows,  to  the  great 
danger  of  their  eyesight. 

We  finally  got  away  from  the  grounds,  and  took  our  place 
as  a  particle  in  the  mass  which  was  rapidly  melting  off,  and 
escaping  through  the  channel  of  the  highway  to  London. 

The  road  was  thronged,  frequently  blocked,  and  at  no  time 
passable  at  a  greater  speed  than  a  walk. 

But  the  chafiing,  and  flying  peas,  and  convulsi\e dolls  con- 
tinued without  abatement. 

We  branched  off  to  another  road  for  relief,  but  succeeded 
only  in  reaching  another  and  equally  strong  current  of  leatiier, 
flesh,  and  wood ;  and,  jumping  into  it  at  the  first  opening, 
our  gayly-colorcd  van  was  swept  along  with  the  current. 

What  a  jolly,  rollicking  crowd  was  that  !  How  they  huz- 
zaed and  sang  and  laughed,  and  chafled  their  neighbors  and 
villagers,  and  sounded  their  bugles  ! 

Every  one  of  the  numerous  villages  of  brie  k  and  cobble 
we  passed  through  contributed  its  enthusiastic  witnesses  to 
the  jiageant ;  and,  as  we  rolled  through  the  i)aveil  and  narrow 
high  street,  we  were  saluted  from  every  door  and  window, 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    RACK-WINDOW,  75 

and  saluted  in  return  with  a  vigor  that  showed  there  was 
nothing  small  about  us. 

Old  men  in  the  procession  whooped  with  the  rest.  Mid- 
dle-aged and  fleshy  women,  resting  back  in  their  seats,  shook 
sandwiches  and  vegetables  at  their  turbulent  fellows ;  while 
others,  mounting  their  handkerchiefs  on  their  sticks,  swung 
them  to  the  breeze,  or  waved  wine-bottles  and  wine-glasses 
above  their  heads. 

Men,  women,  and  children,  in  the  carriage,  on  the  walk, 
or  in  the  window,  threw  kisses,  winks,  amorous  glances,  and 
rather  broad  innuendoes,  at  each  other,  with  a  freedom  that 
was  appalling  to  a  stranger. 

Some  of  the  ladies  looking  over  garden-walls  or  from  lattice 
windows  did  not  seem  to  appreciate  the  delicate  attentions 
spooney  young  men  were  levelling  at  them  from  the  top  of 
the  passing  'buses  and  drags ;  but  others  answered  back  as 
cordially  as  was  sent  to  them. 

Here  and  there  on  the  green  turf,  by  the  roadside,  a 
family  had  drawn  up  their  trap,  and,  with  a  white  cloth  be- 
fore them,  had  spread  out  a  tempting  meal,  and  were  doing 
ample  justice  to  it,  cutting,  chewing,  drinking,  and  shout- 
ing in  one  breath. 

Here,  in  a  garden  to  a  public-house,  in  front  of  which 
were  a  stamping  and  noisy  crowd  of  men  and  horses,  were 
long  tables  hastily  set,  with  scores  of  our  fellow-travellers 
taking  tea,  ale,  wine,  and  sandwiches  as  coolly  and  as  calmly 
as  if  the  road,  which  a  hedge  separated  from  them,  was  not 
trembling  beneath  the  weight  of  an  uproarious  Derby  crowd. 

It  was  nine  o'clock,  and  still  daylight,  and  we  were  three 
hours  on  the  road ;  but  yet  we  had  not  come  into  London. 

All  about  were  broad  green  fields,  acres  of  smooth  turf 
and  beautiful  park,  hedges  and  gardens,  blossoms  and  scents, 
cottage  and  hall. 

The  roar  of  the  multitude  grew  in  magnitude.  Imagine 
a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  people  bent  on  having  fun,  and 


^6  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

hurting  nobody,  let  loose  through  two  noble  highways,  and 
you  get  an  idea  of  the  society  I  found  myself  in. 

It  was  such  a  good-natured  throng,  and  so  susceptible  to 
sensation  !  It  laughed  at  a  hedge,  screamed  at  a  tree, 
shouted  at  a  cloud,  and  roared  at  a  breeze. 

We  came  into  the  suburbs  of  London  like  a  victorious 
army  encumbered  with  spoils.  The  crowds  on  the  walks 
grew  denser  as  we  progressed,  until  it  did  seem  as  if  another 
universe  had  turned  out  to  meet  us. 

The  chaffing  grew  fearfully  thick  at  this  stage ;  and  little 
boys,  with  each  a  pound  of  flour  held  together  by  the  feeble 
offices  of  a  paper  bag,  stole  surreptitiously  alongside  of  our 
vans  and  cars,  and  donated  us  the  parcels  with  a  heartiness 
that  spoke  well  for  theu-  generosity,  but  wore  on  the  paper. 
The  party  on  our  van  looked  like  a  crowd  of  indignant  mill- 
ers trying  to  cUmb  a  fence. 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  // 


CHAPTER    XL 


STREET-SCENES. 


IT  is  only  of  such  sights  as  may  be  obtained  from  the  top 
of  an  omnibus  that  I  speak.  These  are  common  to  the 
eye  of  every  pedestrian,  and  are  the  contrasts  to  his  own 
city  which  most  directly  appeal  to  him. 

If  I  should  go  down  into  the  depths  of  woe  in  this  great 
city,  I  am  afraid  there  is  not  paper  enough  in  Paternoster 
Row  to  give  the  details  of  the  poverty,  crime,  and  habits  of 
the  denizens.  To  tell  the  truth,  the  more  I  go  about  Lon- 
don, the  more  painfully  am  I  impressed  with  the  impossibility 
of  seeing  all  of  it,  or  even  half  of  it.  I  wish  I  could  be 
certain  of  seeing  one-third  of  it  during  my  sojourn  of  six 
weeks.  And  yet  there  are  Americans  by  the  thousand  who 
remain  in  London  scarcely  one  week,  and  hasten  on  to  Paris 
to  stay  a  month. 

The  streets  of  London  do  not  claim  attention  by  their 
breadth,  straightness,  or  comeliness  of  buildings  ;  but  the  life 
and  animation  characterizing  them  from  nine  o'clock  a.m.  to 
twelve  o'clock  p.m.  attract,  and  quite  frequently  fascinate,  the 
stranger. 

London  is  inade  up  of  Enghshmen,  Americans,  and  for- 
eigners ;  and  the  last-named  are  so  scarce  as  to  be  immedi- 
ately noticeable. 

You  do  not  see  here  an  English  builder  with  German 
workmen  and  Irish  servants.     The  merchants,  the  manufac- 


78  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

Uncrs,  and  the  business-men  generally,  are  English ;  their 
clerks  and  workmen  are  English  ;  the  coachmen  are  English  ; 
the  porters  are  English  ;  the  servant-girls  are  EInglish  ;  the 
newsboys  and  bootblacks,  and  gamins  generally,  are  English. 

Wherever  you  turn,  you  see  English,  English,  English.  It 
is  an  imposing  spectacle. 

Broad  jaws,  sloping  shoulders,  red  cheeks,  flaxen  hair,  side- 
whiskers,  gaiters,  round  sack-coats,  stiff  hats,  canes,  umbrel- 
las, and  eye-glasses,  —  all  English.  There  is  the  large  Eng- 
lishman just  coming  along  in  a  suit  of  check-goods,  with 
broad  chest,  swelling  stomach,  fat  cheeks  delicately  checked 
with  red  veins.  The  stick  he  carries  in  his  hand  is  stanch 
enough  to  knock  down  a  horse.  I  was  going  to  say  a  bul- 
lock, only  I  recollect  having  seen  a  man  at  a  cattle-market 
knock  down  bullock  after  bullock  with  simply  the  index-fin- 
ger of  his  right  hand :  so  I  say  horse  advisedly.  He  uses 
that  stick  too,  and  you  can  distinctly  see  every  time  he 
places  it  down  on  the  pavement.     He  wears  a  high  hat. 

Right  behind  him  is  a  thin  young  man  in  plaid  suit,  with 
a  round-top  hat,  a  light  flaxen  mustache,  blue  eyes,  a  scarce- 
ly defined  line  of  hair  on  each  cheek.  He  has  a  cane  also, 
but  carefully  guards  against  striking  the  pavement  with  it. 
He  wears  a  prominent  pose. 

And  next  to  him  is  a  pair  of  very  flowing  side-whiskers,  a 
suit  of  black  with  white  vest  and  enormous  seals,  blue  eyes, 
red  clieeks,  and  a  stick  grasped  in  the  middle,  and  carried 
at  an  angle  of  forty-five  or  less  degrees. 

Then  there  is  the  oldish  man,  with  very  little  whiskers  any 
way,  in  rusty  black,  with  a  silk  hat  that  seems  to  have  just 
come  from  beating  a  score  of  boys  out  of  a  yard.  He  has 
a  forelock  combed  to  the  front ;  has  watery  eyes,  and  a  nose 
that  requires  a  great  deal  of  attention,  but  is  neglected,  I 
fear. 

Then,  too,  tliore  is  the  clerk,  in  a  suit  of  black,  witli  white 
tie,  a  thin  body,  thinner  legs,  no  beard,  and  a  high  hat.     I 


ENGLAND  FROM  A  BACK-WINDOW.        79 

don't  understand  him ;  for  he  is  not  distinctively  English. 
I  think  I  have  seen  him  before. 

About  these  are  men  in  caps,  heavy  white  aprons,  and 
loose  sack-coats,  who  are  either  porters  or  mechanics. 

And  among  them  all  is  the  London  boy.  I  never  get 
tired  of  studying  the  London  boy.  There  is  so  much  of 
him  !  —  not  individually,  but  collectively.  Individually  he  is 
slim,  with  generally  a  white,  unhealthy  face,  spindling  legs, 
and  rather  narrow  back  of  the  head.  He  wears  pants  tight 
to  his  shrinking  shanks,  and  a  cap  that  makes  him  look  like 
an  orphan  boarding  with  a  maiden  aunt,  who,  early  in  life, 
met  with  a  disappointment.  He  is  a  poor  boy,  without  doubt, 
always  on  the  street,  and  always  in  the  way.  I  never  saw 
such  a  boy  in  any  other  city.  He  is  not  quarrelsome,  not 
saucy,  not  addicted  to  smoking ;  and  I  never  heard  one  of 
them  swear,  even  under  the  most  favorable  circumstances. 
To  tell  the  truth,  I  never  heard  them  say  much  of  any  thing. 

He  is  a  helpless  youth,  addicted  to  store-windows,  rubbing 
against  buildings,  and  toppling  over  obstructions.  He  has 
a  dreadful  tendency  to  be  always  backing  up  against  some- 
thing, and  always  missing  it,  to  the  detriment  of  his  bones. 

Only  they  do  not  fall  with  sufficient  force  to  break  a  bone. 
I  have  seen  one  of  them  slide  from  the  side  of  a  lamp-post, 
turn  a  part  somersault,  recover  himself,  hit  up  against  the 
post  again,  slip  off  the  curb,  and  gradually  get  down  on  his 
back  in  the  gutter,  taking  in  all  some  dozen  seconds  to  do 
it ;  while  an  American  boy  would  go  down,  and  stave  a  hole 
in  the  back  of  his  head,  and  make  a  doctor's  bill  of  eighteen 
dollars,  in  less  than  a  second. 

But  the  English  are  so  conservative  ! 

We  don't  see  such  quaint-looking  characters  at  home  as 
we  do  here.  The  oddities  of  the  several  nations  are  so 
blended  in  America  as  to  be  materially  dulled;  but  here, 
where  there  are  no  new  and  diverse  elements  coming  in  and 
uniting  with  the  native,  the  quaint  is  well  defined  and  well 
preserved. 


80  ENGLAND    FROM    A    RACK-WINDO\y. 

I  have  always  thought  that  Dickens  and  Cruikshank  were 
fearful  exaggerators ;  but  I  have  met  with  a  revulsion  of 
feeling. 

But  whatever  that  is  odd,  in  figure,  dress,  or  speech,  to  a 
visitor,  seems  to  be  all  right  to  the  people  here,  sacredly  as 
they  are  devoted  to  chaffing. 

Into  a  restaurant  the  other  day  came  a  man  who  was  a  mar- 
vel of  angles  and  antiquity.  He  was  over  six  feet  in  height, 
but  would  not  weigh  a  hundred  and  twent)^-five  pounds. 
His  clothing  was  black,  and  most  wonderfully  ill-fitting.  He 
wore  a  black  stock,  over  which  his  sharp  chin  dangled  in  a 
desponding  manner.  There  were  black  cotton  gloves  on 
his  wonderfully  long  hands ;  and  he  carried  them  as  if  they 
were  full  to  the  brim  with  precious  liquids. 

His  was  a  large  mouth,  of  the  shape  of  a  letter-box  aper- 
ture ;  and  his  very  red  and  very  prominent  gums  shone  con- 
spicuously through.  He  had  a  large  nose,  of  the  color  of 
the  gums ;  large,  watery  eyes.  His  hair  was  a  light  brown, 
rather  thin,  and  plastered  down  to  his  head,  his  cheeks,  and 
his  neck.  A  rusty-looking  black  hat  with  an  enomious  crape 
band  completed  the  spectacle.  He  was  a  clergyman,  with- 
out doubt ;  and  a  dissenter,  perhaps.  Remembering  that  a 
graveyard  was  near,  I  moved  about  uneasily ;  but  the  attend- 
ants and  guests  took  no  particular  notice  of  him. 

He  bought  a  penny  bun,  asking  the  price  in  a  sepulchral 
voice ;  and  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  and  ground 
away  at  the  insignificant  bread  as  if  he  were  a  grist-mill,  with 
a  half-ton  of  com  in  its  clutch. 

The  photograph  windows  are  objects  of  great  interest 
here  as  elsewhere  ;  but  it  is  noticeable  how  fond  the  English 
are  of  viewing  the  pictures  of  royalty.  Wherever  they  are 
exposed,  there  is  sure  to  be  a  knot  of  intense  admirers.  I 
think  they  attract  even  more  attention  than  the  pictures  of 
bare-legged  actresses ;  and  would  say  so,  if  I  were  sure  of 
being  believed. 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINnOW.  8 1 

I  suppose  every  one  of  us  who  come  here  has  an  un- 
quenchable longing  to  look  with  our  own  eyes  upon  a  mem- 
ber of  the  royal  family.  It  is  not  to  admire  them  that  we 
have  this  desire  ;  but  we  want  to  abhor  them.  I  think  that 
is  the  feeling.  I  made  many  an  effort  to  get  at  the  royal 
family,  that  I  might  abhor  them,  before  success  cro\vned  my 
attempts.  I  have  gone  twenty  miles  to  abhor  a  single  mem- 
ber of  the  Queen's  household. 

There  are  but  few  advantages  to  the  many  drawbacks  of 
being  royal.  A  royal  person  in  business  has  the  advantage, 
when  travelling,  of  not  having  to  look  up  a  hotel,  on  arriving 
at  his  destination,  under  the  torturing  supervision  of  a  har- 
dened cabman.  That  is  about  the  only  advantage  I  can 
detect.  But  to  offset  this  is  a  multitude  of  disadvantages, 
and  it  takes  a  multitude  to  do  it.  The  Queen  goes  nowhere 
really.  She  is  the  ruler  of  all  Britain  ;  but  I  wager  there  are 
hundreds  of  streets  in  her  own  city  of  London  which  she 
never  saw.  How  often  she  has  heard  of  Cheapside,  and 
wondered  how  it  looked  !  How  much  she  has  read  of  the 
gayety  of  the  watering-places,  and  sighed  for  just  one  glimpse  ! 
How  frequently  she  has  been  told  of  the  excitement  of  the 
Derby  road,  the  exhilaration  of  a  ride  on  the  top  of  a  stage- 
coach, the  fascination  of  legerdemain,  the  glory  of  the 
ballet,  the  comfort  of  old  inns,  the  rustic  beauty  of  England's 
farmhouses,  the  glitter  and  charm  of  the  lighted  shops,  the 
wonders  of  the  underground  railways,  the  delight  of  a  soda- 
water  fountain  in  full  blast,  and  many,  many  other  things 
which  the  commonest  subject  enjoys,  but  which  she  is 
eternally  shut  out  from  ! 

She  has  her  palace  and  her  walled-in  gardens ;  and,  stand- 
ing there,  she  can  say  to  the  people  of  London,  "  Here  you 
cannot  come."  But  they,  with  their  miles  of  streets,  and 
multitude  of  glories,  can  jaw  back  to  their  Queen,  "Here 
you  can't  come  !  " 

I  never  go  by  those  walled  gardens,  but  I  think  that  there 


82  EXOLAND    FROM    A    RACK-WINDOW. 

are  just  as  envious  eyes  on  one  side  of  tlie  masonry  as  on 
the  other. 

She  can  walk  there  as  much  as  she  Ukes,  and  by  herself: 
but  there  is  no  swapping  gossip  and  preserve-recipes  over 
the  gate  with  the  woman  in  the  next  house  ;  nor  a  run  out 
in  the  afternoon  to  see  Mrs.  Jones's  shawl,  and  to  show  her 
own. 

What  does  she  know  of  neighborly  comforts  ?  What  does 
she  know  of  the  exquisite  enjoyment  of  badgering  a 
shopkeeper  into  lunacy  over  a  paper  of  hairpins,  or  of  the 
subtle  excitement  of  hoarding  up  old  rags  to  exchange  for 
new  tin  ? 

However,  I  was  going  to  speak  of  royalty  photographed ; 
and  to  show  that  the  same  longings  for  what  we  have  not 
got,  rather  than  the  enjoyment  of  what  we  possess,  is  com- 
mon to  us  all,  royal  or  ragged,  we  need  but  to  look  at  these 
photographs. 

Now,  when  were  these  pictures  taken  ?  who  took  them  ? 
and  how  came  they  in  the  market?  Did  the  Queen  and 
the  other  royal  members  go  to  the  galleries  of  the  men  whose 
imprints  are  on  the  cards  ? 

Certainly  not. 

Why  not  ? 

Because  no  photograph-gallery  on  the  face  of  the  earth  is 
built  large  enough  to  accommodate  them.  Imagine  the 
Queen  going  up  two  pairs  of  narrow  stairs  in  quest  of  a  pho- 
tograph-gallery, with  four  and  twenty  nobleman  in  advance, 
and  a  half-dozen  knights  in  advance  of  them,  and  fourteen 
squires  ahead  of  the  knights,  and  then,  back  of  her,  twelve 
waiting-women  with  skirts  four  yards  long,  with  four  bishops 
back  of  them,  the  lord-mayor  back  of  the  bishops,  all  the 
foreign  ambassadors  back  of  the  lord-mayor,  a  couple  scores 
of  dij)lomates  and  soldiers  back  of  the  ambassadors,  a  large 
assortment  of  knights  and  lords  back  of  them,  and  the  high 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW,  83 

sheriff  of  London  bringing  up  the  rear  in  red  cloth  and  gold 
lace  ! 

What  photographer  could  stand  that  ?  And,  if  any  photog- 
rapher could,  his  stairs  and  room  couldn't.  A  nice  specta- 
cle it  would  be,  wouldn't  it,  with  the  lord-mayor  sitting  on  a 
spittoon,  and  each  ambassador  on  a  bottle  of  chemicals  ! 

Imagine  the  Queen  sailing  around  with  that  throng  in 
quest  of  a  paper  of  hairpins  !  And  that  is  just  the  way  the 
wretched  woman  would  have  to  move,  if  she  moved  outside 
at  all. 

But  to  come  back  to  those  pictures  again.  We  don't 
know  where  they  were  taken,  or  by  whom  they  were  taken  ; 
and  so  we  solve  that  difficulty  by  giving  it  up.  But  how 
came  they  in  the  market?  There  is  no  other  way  than 
with  the  consent  of  the  parties  themselves  to  the  artist  to 
make  copies. 

Here  we  have  the  gentlemen  in  sitting  posture,  for  the 
gratification  of  their  friends  ;  in  standing  and  leaning  posture, 
by  the  side  of  a  pillar,  or  in  the  midst  of  a  field  (there  is  no 
scenery  quite  so  striking  as  that  made  by  a  photographer), 
for  the  gratification  of  their  vanity  and  the  paying  public. 
Then  we  have  the  ladies  in  sitting  posture,  becomingly  at- 
tired, for  the  gratification  of  their  friends  ;  and  in  reclining 
postures,  ^vith  the  bosom  in  part  bared,  for  the  gratification 
of  those  voluptuously  inclined. 

Whether  photography  or  perverted  royalty  should  bear  the 
condemnation  of  this  last,  let  some  one  tell. 

The  ladies  are  so  modest-looking,  and  so  modest  in 
speech,  that  I  am  inclined  myself  to  believe  that  an  unscru- 
pulous photographer  has  been  fooling  with,  royalty's  head 
and  a  flash  actress's  body. 

They  say  the  royal  sons  are  passionately  devoted  to  num- 
ber one.  \Mien  one  of  them  presides  over  an  event,  —  such 
as  breaking  ground  for  some  important  enterprise,  or  laying 


84  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

the  comer-Stone  of  a  public  building,  —  he  is  given  a  silver 
si)ade  or  trowel  to  do  the  work.  This  trophy  belongs  to  him 
by  right  of  the  performance  of  duty.  But  he  does  not  have 
it  sent  around  to  the  house  after  the  ceremony  :  he  shoves  it 
into  his  pocket  at  once. 

A  wide-awake  active  prince,  with  a  pleasant  exterior, 
picks  up  many  a  penny  in  this  way,  and  thus  keeps  the  wolf 
from  the  door. 

From  the  top  of  the  omnibus  we  frequently  pass  low  arch- 
ways, up  which  we  catch  a  glimpse  of  business  that  aston- 
ishes. They  are  the  business  lanes  or  courts  of  London. 
The  width  is  generally  eight  feet,  sometimes  a  little  more, 
and  sometimes  a  trifle  less,  I  am  sorry  to  say.  They  are 
paved  with  flagging,  and  you  enter  and  leave  them  through 
an  arch.  In  this  narrow,  choked  way  are  public-houses, 
book-shops,  chemists'  shops,  and  even  dry-goods  shops  ;  not 
dingy  wholesale  places,  but  bright,  showy  retail  shops.  They 
were  probably  let  into  the  sides  of  the  buildings  which  form 
the  lane  centuries  ago,  before  people  became  progressive, 
and  desired  to  spread  ;  and  they  are  too  valuable  now  to  close 
up.  There  are  a  score-'of  such  lanes  in  the  city  limits,  —  the 
old  city,  I  mean.  And  then  there  are  little  courts  of  no  pre- 
tension, which  seem  to  sneak  along  between  two  buildings, 
and  suddenly  disappear  in  the  yawning  door  of  a  public- 
house  ;  but,  on  approaching  the  do6r,  you  see  a  narrow  way 
to  the  right  or  left,  a  sort  of  forgotten  entrance  to  a  back- 
yard, and,  pushing  through  it,  —  two  cannot  pass  it  at  once, — 
you  arc  in  a  bustling  street  or  court  devoted  to  business  or 
residences.  The  immense  house  of  Routledge  &  Sons,  the 
well-known  publishers,  is  in  just  such  a  court. 

We  occasionally  meet  a  man  pushing  a  cart  before  him, 
and  keeping  well  in  the  gutter.  He  has  a  pile  of  sorry-look- 
ing meat  before  him.  Once  in  a  while  he  stops  ;  and  a  boy 
or  girl  comes  to  the  cart,  gets  a  piece  of  the  meat,  pays  him 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  85 

a  penny  or  so  for  it,  and  retires,  and  he  goes  on.  I  was 
watching  him  the  other  day,  when  I  observed  him  draw  up 
before  a  cat  standing  on  the  walk. 

I  heard  him  say,  "Well,  Kitty,  is  that  >x)u?"  and  then 
cut  off  a  piece  of  meat.  He  held  down  his  unoccupied 
hand,  and  the  cat  dropped  a  penny  into  it.  This  freed  her 
mouth,  and  enabled  her  to  take  the  meat  which  he  now 
passed  her.  Then  he  said,  "  Good-by,  Kitty,"  and  trundled 
away ;  and  the  cat  stepped  into  the  opposite  store. 

I  have  frequently  seen  dogs  come  out  to  trade  with  this 
cat-and-dog-meat  merchant ;  but  I  never  knew  one  of  them 
to  bicker  about  the  price. 

What  a  lesson  this  is  to  humanity  ! 

Sitting  on  the  top  of  the  omnibus,  we  find  there  are  sev- 
eral popular  institutions  missing.  We  don't  see  any  street 
shade- trees,  rarely  a  hitching-post,  still  more  rarely  a  street- 
sweeper,  and  no  milkman's  rattling  cart  and  cheery  bell. 

The  milkmen  here  are  called  cow-keepers.  That  is  a 
pretty  name  ;  but  they  don't  keep  cows,  which  rather  dims 
the  lustre  of  their  escutcheon  (whatever  that  is).  They  get 
their  milk,  as  we  do  ours,  from  outsiders,  and  carry  it  around 
in  two  cans  suspended  from  a  yoke  carried  over  the  shoul- 
der. That  doesn't  look  as  pretty  as  our  four-wheeled,  gau- 
dily-painted affairs ;  but  it  suits  Londoners^  as  it  doesn't 
deprive  them  of  sleep,  and  it  gives  the  carrier  an  expression 
of  thoughtfulness  (especially  when  the  cans  are  full)  that  is 
quite  captivating. 

Londoners  don't  seem  to  like  noises.  They  have  nothing 
but  the  clocks  to  apprise  them  of  the  working  and  knocking- 
off  hour;  no  nice  cast-iron  bell  in  a  cupola,  rung  by  a 
bullet-headed  youth  ;  no  nice  whistle  on  the  top  of  a  mill. 
They  don't  like  such  things,  these  Londoners  don't.  But 
they  have  chimes,  —  forty  of  them  within  the  space  of  a  quar- 
ter of  a  mile,  —  that  not  only  ring  out  the  hour  in  a  strain  that 


S6  ENGLAND    FROM    A    HACK-WINDnW. 

drives  you  mad,  but  sound  every  blessed  quarter  in  the  same 
manner.  You  don't  much  mind  them  through  the  day,  when 
the  carts  and  wagons  take  off  the  edge ;  but  when  in  the 
stilly  night  you  are  on  your  couch,  dreaming  that  an  angel  is 
bending  over  you  with  a  harp  in  one  hand,  and  a  post-office 
appointment  in  the  other,  it  attracts  your  attention,  and 
seems  to  disturb  the  angel. 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW,  8/ 


CHAPTER    XII. 


IN   THE   MILDEW. 


LONDON  has  several  world-known  churches.  St.  Paul's 
Cathedral,  Westminster  Abbey,  the  Temple  Church, 
and  St.  Bartholomew  the  Greater,  are  prominent  in  the  num- 
ber. 

Four-fifths  of  the  noted  men  of  the  past  with  whom  the 
American  people  are  acquainted  lie  buried  in  London,  and 
within  a  radius  of  ten  miles.  Their  ashes  are  glorified  on 
tablets  of  stone,  and  still  flourish  in  the  neighboring  vegeta- 
tion. 

As  a  theatre  and  sepulchre,  Westminster  Abbey  and  the 
Temple  Church  are  the  most  prominent ;  but,  as  a  landscape 
view,  St.  Paul's  Cathedral  is  the  most  conspicuous.  I  should 
like  to  say  that  its  majestic  dome  with  glowing  ball  of  gold  is 
the  first  indication  to  the  traveller  of  his  approach  to  the 
wonderful  city ;  but  truth  compels  me  to  wTite  that  it  is  a 
man  in  blue,  who  demands  your  ticket. 

St.  Paul's  is  hemmed  in  by  narrow  streets,  and  dingy  build- 
ings devoted  to  commerce.  It  stands  at  the  head  of  the 
crowded  thoroughfare  called  Ludgate  Hill,  where  it  divides 
the  stream  of  life,  which  meets  again  at  the  other  side,  and 
forms  Cheapside,  The  diversions  are  called  St.  Paul's 
Churchyard ;  the  one  on  the  right  or  river  side  being  de- 
voted to  the  wholesale  trade,  while  the  other  is  given  up  to 
hosiery,  dry-goods,  and  fried  tripe.  ^ 


88  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

The  building  itself  is  an  elaborate  example  of  what  Lon- 
don smoke  will  do.  It  was  built  of  a  whitish  stone,  and, 
when  erected,  must  have  presented  a  very  fine  appearance. 
But  the  two  hundred  years  which  have  intervened  since  that 
time  have  worked  a  wonderful  transformation.  The  sides  of 
the  pillars  and  other  prominences  exposed  to  the  steadiest 
wind-quarter  are  blackened.  The  surfaces  generally  are 
alternately  black  and  grayish  white  ;  and  the  appearance  now 
is  as  if  it  were  a  dark  building  emerging  from  a  coating  of 
frost,  the  blackened  portions  first  receiving  the  rays  of  the 
sun.  In  the  cool  of  early  morning  this  impression  is  so 
strong  as  to  involuntarily  startle  the  beholder. 

The  presence  of  stone  is  imposing.  Your  feet  rest  upon 
it,  without  a  bright-tinted,  pliable  carpet  to  inter\-ene.  You 
stretch  out  your  hands,  and  you  grasp  it ;  you  lift  up  your 
eyes  and  contemplate  it. 

Every  thing  about  the  altar,  choir,  and  pulpit,  is  rich  with 
color,  and  massive  in  conception. 

In  painful  contrast  are  the  places  of  the  worshippers. 
Their  sittings  are  beneath  the  dome,  and  extending  away 
back  through  the  nave  to  the  front-entrance.  At  the  front 
the  seats  are  straight-backed  and  hard-bottomed  chairs. 
Back  of  these  are  long  wooden  benches,  of  repulsive  simpli- 
city. The  only  advantage  of  these  benches  is  brought  out 
during  an  especially  interesting  service,  when  the  humble 
worshipper  can  use  them  to  elevate  himself  above  those  who 
do  not  care  to  make  themselves  so  conspicuous. 

These  benches  are  seamed  and  scarred  with  the  knife  of 
the  autographic  fiend.  The  bases  of  the  pillars  are  in  many 
cases  similarly  blasted. 

About  on  the  walls  are  notices  prohibiting  people  from 
walking  about  during  the  service.  In  an  .\mcrican  meeting- 
house no  such  notice  is  ever  seen.  There,  when  the  sen-ice 
commences,  no  one  think*  of  strolling  about  the  church  ;  for 
every  American  meeting-house  has  a  deacon  fifty-eight  years 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  89 

old,  with  steel-blue  eyes,  and  a  beard  like  a  currycomb, 
alongside  of  whom  the  famed  Spanish  Inquisition  tones  down 
to  a  circus-performance. 

The  bearing  of  the  Englishman  in  his  church  is  most 
respectful.  They  are  a  deeply  religious  people,  and  in  all 
outward  forms  are  not  lacking.  The  Methodists,  Baptists, 
Congregationalists,  and  all  others  not  of  the  Church  of  Eng- 
land, are  here  called  dissenters ;  and  their  places  of  worship 
are  not  kno^vn  as  churches,  but  simply  chapels.  They  are 
not  consecrated  to  God  with  the  forms  of  the  Established 
Church,  and  are,  in  consequence,  not  considered  as  being 
strictly  holy  temples.  The  dissenters  themselves  further  this 
custom  of  title  by  always  speaking  of  their  temples  as 
chapels.  They  do  not  say  "going  to  church,"  but  "going 
to  chapel." 

The  Englishman,  on  going  into  his  church,  takes  off  his 
hat ;  and  everybody  who  accompanies  him  is  obliged  to  do 
the  same.  No  one  is  allowed  in  their  churches  at  any 
time,  during  service  or  of  a  week-day,  with  his  head  covered. 
I  have  seen  the  sexton  of  a  country  church,  at  work  in  the 
churchyard,  have  occasion  to  enter  the  door  several  times 
within  an  hour ;  and  on  each  occasion  he  removed  his  hat. 

The  Englishman  who  is  a  dissenter  is  not  so  particular  in 
his  chapel  when  there  is  no  service. 

I  have  been  to  several  services  at  St.  Paul's,  and  on  each 
occasion  found  policemen  in  attendance,  —  in  an  official 
capacity,  of  course.  It  was  a  novel  sight.  There  was  also  a 
certain  degree  of  novelty  in  seeing  a  congregation  waving  to 
and  fro,  coming  in  and  going  out  during  the  service,  always 
in  motion,  always  animated,  always  pleasant  and  cheerful ; 
and  then  to  step  out  of  the  church,  and  find  the  walks  alive 
with  smiling  people,  and  the  omnibuses  and  cabs  thunder- 
ing over  the  pavement  as  if  it  were  a  Monday  morning  or  a 
Saturday  evening ;  and  later  still,  as  twilight  came,  to  find 
the  saloons  in  a  blaze  of  light,  and  men,  women,  and  chil- 
dren in  Sunday  toggery  going  in  and  coming  out. 


90  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

Ah  !  brazen-foced  men,  and  impudent  women,  and  har- 
dened youth,  why  do  you  come  and  go  at  the  front  of  the 
saloon?  Is  there  no  back-door  in  England?  Is  it  all  in 
America  ? 

Forgive  the  digression. 

We  have  looked  at  the  bass-reliefs,  stared  at  the  paintings 
in  the  summit  of  the  dome  (representing,  with  poor  light, 
scenes  in  Scripture  history),  taken  in  the  vista,  and  had  a 
wondering  gaze  over  the  inner  mass  of  theological  masonry, 
so  different  from  our  warm-tinted  churches  at  home ;  and 
now  we  open  on  the  finance.  There  are  a  number  of  ver- 
gers within  these  pious  walls,  who,  upon  the  payment  of 
admission,  conduct  the  visitor  into  the  crypt,  and  up  the 
winding  staircase  of  cold  and  gloomy  stone  to  the  whisper- 
ing-gallery, bell-tower,  and  ball. 

It  is  a  sixpence  to  go  down  into  the  crj'pt.  And  it  is 
cheap.  I  never  before  got  so  much  gloom  and  woe  for  a 
sixpence.  It  is  a  flagged  floor  and  many  low  arches,  lighted 
by  gas-jets  ;  for  it  is  always  on  exhibition,  is  this  sacred  place 
of  the  dead.  They  lie  all  about  here.  Under  nearly  every 
bit  of  flagging  are  one  or  more  bodies,  as  the  inscriptions  on 
it  tell. 

Then  we  pass  to  an  inner  crypt,  and  stand  before  the  sar- 
coi)hagus  containing  the  remains  of  Wellington.  The  ver- 
ger taps  a  particular  block  of  stone  in  the  side,  and  monoto- 
nously explains  that  there  lies  all  that  is  mortal  of  the  man 
who  "  basted  "  Napoleon.  One  is  deeply  aflected.  Beyond 
is  the  hearse,  whose  ponderous  wheels  were  made  of  the 
cannon  his  noble  army  captured  from  the  French.  Over  it 
is  the  gorgeous  black  velvet  pall  which  covered  it  as  it 
proceeded  on  its  mournful  mission  through  the  streets  of 
London.  Its  tinsel  is  faded  ;  and  the  moths  are  picnicking 
within  its  sombre  folds,  as  if  there  was  not  an  ounce  of 
camphor  within  sixteen  thousand  miles  of  the  spot.  I  don't 
mind  moths  much  myself;  but  my  wife  always  goes  for  one 
when  she  sees  it. 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  9I 

Farther  beyond  is  the  sarcophagus  of  Nelson,  the  famous 
naval  hero,  and  one  of  the  noblest  of  England's  best.  A 
feeling  of  sadness  came  over  me  :  it  always  does  when  stand- 
ing before  any  sarcophagus.  The  most  ostentatious  whipping 
I  ever  got  was  for  spelling  the  second  syllable  with  a  ff. 

We  afterward  ascended  a  staircase  of  solid  stone  to  the 
first  corridor  in  the  dome,  which  is  called  the  whispering- 
gallery,  from  the  fact,  that  while  it  is  almost  impossible  to 
make  one  hear  in  hallooing  across  the  space,  yet,  by  putting 
the  face  to  the  wall,  an  ordinary  tone  of  voice  will  go  way 
around  the  vast  space,  and  appear  to  be  in  the  wall  behind 
the  listener  wherever  he  may  stand.  It  is  not  patented,  I 
believe. 

From  the  whispering-gallery  we  go  straight  to  the  tower, 
which  was  on  our  right  as  we  entered  the  church.  This  is 
the  bell-tower.  The  other  is  in  a  state  of  chronic  scaffold- 
ing. We  approach  the  bell  by  a  series  of  stone  steps  start- 
ing from  the  wall,  and  sustained  only  by  themselves.  There 
is  no  newel-post :  each  step  depends  for  position  on  the  rest 
in  the  wall,  and  on  each  other.  The  verger  tells  you  it  is 
just  as  secure  as  the  earth  \  but  you  can't  help  preferring  the 
earth  as  you  wind  up,  and  think  of  your  business. 

I  walked  up  stairs  for  about  four  miles ;  then  I  stopped 
to  reflect.  I  believe  there  are  other  things  to  live  for ;  and 
so  I  retraced  my  way,  and  for  a  fortnight  after  felt  as  if  my 
tihghs  were  stuffed  with  lead. 

We  pass  down  Ludgate  Street,  under  the  bridge  of  the 
Dover  and  Chatham  Railway,  and  are  in  the  Fleet.  Passing 
through  its  crowd  for  a  way,  we  come  to  what  is  called 
Temple  Bar,  which  now  divides  Fleet  Street  from  the  Strand, 
but  which  was  once  the  city  gate  on  the  road  to  Westminster. 
When  the  Queen  goes  to  the  city,  she  passes  through  this 
gate,  the  keys  of  which  are  given  her  in  token  that  the  city 
is  surrendered  to  her ;  or  some  other  tomfoolery  to  the  same 
effect. 


92  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

It  is  a  gateway  without  tlie  supporting  walls.  There  is 
the  main  gate,  always  choked  with  teams,  and  the  smaller 
side-arches,  used  by  pedestrians.  There  are  windows  above 
the  arches,  and  two  effigies  of  stone  in  the  costume  of  seven 
hundred  years  ago.  From  this  gateway,  many  centuries  ago, 
were  suspended  on  poles  the  heads  of  those  who  sacrificed 
themselves  to  the  fury  of  the  reigning  parties. 

A  head  thus  exposed  for  a  couple  of  weeks  became  so 
damaged  by  the  action  of  the  weather  is  to  rarely  be  of  any 
value  to  the  owner. 

It  is  all  intensely  historical  about  here,  and  I  enjoy  riding 
over  the  ground  on  an  omnibus.  Just  before  we  reach 
Temple  Bar,  and  on  the  right,  is  a  projecting  front  of  a 
building,  ornamented  with  bright  colors  and  gold-leaf.  It  is 
a  hair-dressing  saloon.  Just  under  the  cornice  is  the 
announcement  that  the  building  was  the  palace  of  Henry  the 
Eighth  and  Cardinal  Wolsey.  There  is  an  archway  with  a 
ponderous  wooden  gate ;  and  passing  through  this  arch 
brings  the  curious  traveller  into  a  region  as  foreign  and 
unexpected  as  Stonewall  Jackson  used  to  be.  Here  are  the 
buildings  and  squares  which  go  to  make  up  the  Temple,  — 
that  abode  of  lawyers  and  law-students,  which  corresponds 
to  Lincoln's  Inn  in  Cliancery  Lane,  and  Gray's  Inn  off 
Holborn. 

We  pass  do\m  the  alley-way  into  the  open  air.  Just 
before  us  is  the  famous  Church  of  the  Knights  Templar  of 
eight  hundred  years  ago. 

It  was  the  Church  of  the  Templars  centuries  ago ;  but, 
when  they  were  overcome  and  annihilated,  it  reverted  to  the 
crown  ;  and  King  James  the  First  gave  it  to  the  lawyers,  who 
were  already  occ.upying  the  tenemented  buildings  about  it, 
and  which  they  rented  from  the  Templars  three  hundred 
years  before. 

It  is  a  grand  church,  with  beautifully  tinted  and  arched 
ceilings,   elaborate   clustering   pillars,   bright   colored    tiles. 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  93 

oaken  seats,  an  exquisite  altar,  and  a  grand  organ,  the  choice 
of  the  Tammany  Judge  Jeffries. 

Scattered  over  the  floor  of  what  is  called  the  Round, 
being  a  circular  building,  between  the  porch  and  choir,  are 
the  prostrate  effigies  of  those  brave  knights,  who,  eight 
hundred  years  ago,  left  Merrie  England,  lovers'  joys,  the 
theatre  and  skittles,  to  \\Test  Palestine  from  the  ignoble 
Saracens. 

If  I  am  not  mistaken  in  my  history,  the  reigning  king  at 
that  period  cheerfully  encouraged  this  remarkable  filibuster- 
ing expedition,  as  it  rid  him  of  some  noblemen  who  were 
rather  prejudiced  against  his  tenure  of  office,  and  who  were 
too  sharp  for  him,  and  not  sufficiently  sharp  for  themselves. 
However  this  may  be,  it  is  just  as  well  they  went.  Had  they 
remained  behind,  and  kept  their  health  long  enough,  Crom- 
well would  have  croqueted  them.  Under  each  one  of  these 
effigies  repose  the  remains  of  a  filibuster.  I  presume  — 
although  I  have  no  other  authority  —  that  each  one  of  these 
effigies  is  an  exact  copy  of  the  original,  not  only  in  dress 
and  accoutrements,  but  in  features. 

They  were  not  remarkable  men  in  height  or  breadth,  but, 
dressed  in  the  present  fashion,  would  have  made  respectable- 
looking  bank-clerks  and  book-keepers. 

They  were  hke  ourselves  of  to-day  in  thought,  in  feehng, 
in  hope,  in  purpose,  in  ambition  ;  just  Hke  ourselves  in  every 
respect,  excepting  the  liver.  They  had  good  livers.  No 
man  with  a  diseased  liver  would  go  prancing  around  Palestine 
with  a  half-ton  of  old  iron  and  steel  about  him. 

They  feared  death  just  as  we  do ;  they  had  the  same 
clinging  to  life  that  we  now  have ;  although  in  our  heart  of 
hearts  we  do  not  give  them  credit  for  it. 

I  never  realized  it  before  ;  but  I  do  now. 

I  am  standing  within  a  few  feet  of  all  that  is  left  of  those 
men  of  whom  I  have  heard  since  a  child,  in  song,  in  romance, 
and  in  history.     So  long  ago  is  it  since  they  were  clothed  in 


94  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

flesh,  that  they  have  seemed  as  myths  to  me,  or  beings  who 
were  born  to  hve  tragically,  die  tragically,  and  make  enter- 
taining reading  for  future  generations. 

They  came  back  from  the  Holy  Land  covered  with  glory, 
and  filled  with  rheumatism ;  and  I  will  wager  all  I  own  that 
the  glory  was  frequently  forgotten  in  the  rheumatism. 

Just  opposite  the  porch,  as  I  came  out  of  the  church,  I 
found  another  arched  opening ;  and,  passing  through  it,  I 
came  into  another  court,  flagged  to  the  uttermost  inch,  and 
banked  about  with  a  wall  of  sombre  brick  tenements.  I'he 
law-students  are  here  also  ;  and  in  the  middle  of  the  court  is 
a  pump,  and  close  to  it  a  sewer-opening,  and  into  the  opening 
a  girl  with  one  eye  is  pouring  a  pail  of  slops.  I  stop  to  look 
at  her.  She  is  the  only  one-eyed  girl  I  have  seen  here. 
But  it  is  surprising  the  number  of  one-eyed  men  who  are  to 
be  found  haunting  the  back-streets  and  alleys  of  the  city. 

Across  in  the  farther  comer  is  another  and  a  smaller  arch. 
I  pass  through  it  to  a  lane,  and  down  the  lane  a  few  steps, 
and  come  to  a  flagged  plaza.  Across  it  a  most  refreshing 
sight  comes  to  view.  There  is  a  little  park  of  turf,  gravelled 
walks,  and  trees ;  and  in  the  centre  is  a  right  lively  fountain, 
filling  the  air  with  its  grateful  spray.  Do  you  recognize  that 
fountain,  dear  reader?  Do  you  remember  the  bluff,  hearty 
fellow  who  courted  Sam's  sister  in  *' Martin  Chuzzlewit"? 
and  cannot  you  recall  how  he  and  the  modest  maiden 
watched  the  play  of  that  fountain  in  silence,  and  then 
sought  each  other's  eyes,  and  read  the  sweet  revelation  ? 

I  hasten  back  to  Fleet  Street,  under  the  impression  that  it 
has  fell  through  the  outer  crust  which  Professor  Tyndall 
talks  about,  because,  although  within  a  few  yards  of  it,  its 
multifarious  noises  are  not  heard  here. 

I  pass  through  Temple  Bar  and  emerge  in  the  Strand,  and 
down  the  Strand,  across  Charing  Cross,  through  Whitechapel, 
and  under  the  very  window  out  of  which  Charles  the  First 
stepped  in  full  view  of  a  frightened  people  trying  to  justify 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  95 

themselves,  and  submitted  to  having  his  royal  head  chopped 
off.  Beyond  is  Westminster  Abbey.  Black  and  gray,  soot 
and  time,  have  done  their  work  right  well ;  and  the  frost 
effect  is  reproduced  here,  although  not  so  elaborately  as  at 
St.  Paul's. 

There  is  the  customary  graveyard  about  the  building ; 
only,  in  this  case,  the  bed  is  of  hard  gravel,  instead  of  turf. 
Here  and  there  in  the  yard,  which  is  more  like  a  common, 
are  gravestones  let  into  the  surface,  and  marking  the  resting- 
place  of  some  one  who  got  as  near  the  famous  walls  as  he 
could,  and  dropped  down  where  he  is,  apparently  contented. 

Wlien  this  abbey  was  built,  what  are  its  dimensions  and 
cost,  I  refer  the  reader  to  history,  &c.,  for  the  information. 
If  I  have  got  to  give  the  length,  width,  depth,  age,  and  cost 
of  every  historical  building,  I  shall  give  up  the  trip,  and  go 
home. 

The  interior  beauty  of  this  grand  structure  excels  the 
exterior  in  that  it  is  not  marred  by  smoke ;  but  it  is  sadly 
marred  by  the  partition  and  stalls  of  wood  which  choke  the 
central  pillars.  I  entered  it,  on  my  first  visit,  at  the  side- 
entrance,  and  a  sei-v'ice  was  just  commencing.  I  took  a 
seat,  and  watched  the  people  drop  in.  All  the  while  the 
service  proceeded.  The  singing  and  responses  were  beauti- 
ful when  I  did  not  look  at  the  little  boys  in  white  robes  who 
performed  them ;  but  seeing  them  yawn,  and  eye  the  peo- 
ple reproachfully  for  dragging  them  out  so  early  in  the  morn- 
ing, considerably  modified  my  enjoyment.  After  the  service 
the  vergers  came  down  from  their  stalls,  and  fell  to  work  col- 
lecting admission-fees  from  those  who  desired  to  investigate 
the  building. 

But  it  is  hardly  to  see  the  building,  or  its  adornment,  that 
an  American  comes  to  Westminster.  The  edifice  is  attrac- 
tive to  us  as  an  historical  tomb.  Within  its  walls,  but  princi- 
pally under  its  floors,  are  buried  the  king,  the  wit,  the  poet, 
the  genius,  and   the  soldier,  from    Edward   the  Confessor 


96  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

down  to  Livingstone  the  Confounder.  All  this  wonderful 
pressure  of  history  is  right  here.  There  are  no  branch  con- 
cerns. 

There  is  so  much  of  tragic  history  surrounding  the  lives 
of  these  people,  that  it  takes  moments  to  grasp  the  fact  that 
you  are  at  their  very  graves,  treading  where  they  trod,  and 
seeing  what  their  very  eyes  rested  upon.  You  would  fain 
stand,  there  for  hours,  and  panorama  before  your  mind's 
vision  all  the  scenes  and  incidents  which  made  them  famous ; 
but  there  is  the  verger  going  through  his  monotonous  drawl, 
and  poking  you  along  farther  into  the  maze. 

That  is  the  great  nuisance  of  sight-seeing  here.  You  are 
rushed  about  from  point  to  point ;  and,  from  trying  to  store 
your  mind  with  impressions,  you  fall  to  looking  out  for  the 
safety  of  your  legs.  You  are  up  to  your  neck  in  romance, 
and  over  your  head  in  history ;  and  your  whole  performance 
is  a  reckless  and  aimless  effort  to  claw  your  way  out.  The 
impressions  which  you  receive  are  but  transitory ;  they  come 
and  go  like  a  flash  :  and,  after  you  are  bowed  out  doors, 
you  feel  as  if  you  had  taken  a  prominent  part  in  a  boiler 
explosion,  and  are  just  about  as  clear  as  to  the  details.  I 
passed  by  scores  of  kings  and  queens  and  peers  entombed, 
I  walked  over  acres  of  others,  and  wondered  how  they  could 
be  so  careless  with  their  dead.  I  got  up  from  the  ser\'ice 
which  I  witnessed  on  entering  the  building,  and  found  I 
had  been  sitting  on  an  entire  family. 

I  was  glad  when  we  reached  the  chapel  of  Edwartl  the 
Confessor,  — that  unapproachable  fraud  of  the  eleventh  cen- 
tury, —  because  here  every  thing  is  so  unicjue  and  anticiue, 
that  even  the  verger  could  not  prevent  me  from  noting  it. 
It  is  but  a  panelled  portion  of  the  grand  nave  of  the  church, 
and  was  built  by  one  of  the  multitudinous  Henrys. 

In  it  is  the  lofty  shrine,  the  most  imposing  in  the  country, 
of  Ijhvard,  the  weakest  and  most  insignificant  of  l-lngiand's 
kings.     At  one  side  of  the  chapel,  near  the  entrance,  is  Uic 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  Q/ 

tomb  of  Edward  the  First,  who,  being  a  tall,  gaunt  chap,  was 
appropriately  dubbed  "  Longshanks "  by  an  affectionate 
people.  The  tomb  of  Longshanks  is  remarkably  homely ; 
but  is  warm  and  comfortable  inside,  I  presume.  There  are 
several  sculptures  along  the  walls  representing  the  Confessor 
seeing  the  Devil  dance  on  some  money-casks,  having  an 
interview  with  St.  John  the  apostle,  and  blind  people  recov- 
ering their  sight  by  washing  their  eyes  in  his  soapsuds,  and 
other  equally  sensible  and  important  phases  ascribed  to  his 
life. 

But  the  object  of  most  engrossing  interest  is  the  chair  in 
which  Edward  the  First  was  crowned  six  hundred  years  ago. 
It  is  a  rough  specimen  of  work,  and  in  America  would  have 
long  ago  "made  the  kettle  boil ;  "  but  here  it  is  not  only  pre- 
served, but  used,  as  every  reigning  man  and  woman  since 
his  time  have  received  their  coronation  in  it.  Time  has 
destroyed  what  beauty  there  ever  was  to  it,  and  the  unsparing 
knife  of  the  autographic  demon  has  been  even  more  aggres- 
sive than  the  scythe. 

Beneath  this  emblematical  chair  is  an  irregular-shaped 
stone,  nearly  black,  and  weighing  about  fifty  pounds,  on  which 
the  ancient  kings  of  Scotland  were  crowned.  It  is  said  to 
be  the  same  stone  on  which  Jacob  rested  his  head  when  he 
had  his  wonderful  dream  ;  but,  owing  to  an  indulgence  in  a 
plate  of  cherries  quite  late  the  night  before,  I  was  not  well 
enough  to  give  that  credence  to  the  story  which  it  undoubt- 
edly deserves. 

One  very  objectionable  feature  of  the  abbey  management 
is  the  permission  given  to  bullet-headed  young  men  to  make 
copies  of  the  brass  effigies  on  the  tombs.  This  is  done  by 
covering  them  with  a  sheet  of  white  paper,  and  reproducing 
the  impression  by  rasping  over  the  paper  with  a  smooth  bit 
of  wood.  When  you  were  a  boy,  you  did  nearly  the  same 
thing  on  a  cent,  but,  I  charitably  hope,  without  any  idea  of 
what  it  would  degenerate  into. 


98  ENGLAND    FROM   A   BACK-WINDOW. 

There  were  two  young  men  engaged  in  this  devilish  work 
while  our  verger  WcOS  grinding  out  the  programme.  I  tried 
to  drive  them  through  the  opposite  wall  with  a  fiery  eye,  but 
was  not  successful.  I  wondered  why  the  verger  didn't  call 
for  an  axe,  and  split  them  open  fi-om  —     But  he  didn't. 

Finally,  just  as  I  was  about  to  crawl  under  one  of  the 
tombs,  out  of  hearing,  a  tall  Ohioan  in  the  party,  equally 
distressed  with  myself,  called  out,  — 

"  Come,  young  gentlemen,  don't  you  see  you  are  disturb- 
ing people?" 

They  looked  around. 

"  I  should  think  you  would  know  better,"  he  went  on  to 
say,  "  than  to  bring  such  work  in  a  place  like  this.  If  the 
sacred  and  holy  associations  of  this  temple,  with  its  illus- 
trious dead,  don't  soften  you,  I  wll." 

They  didn't  say  any  thing ;  but  I  saw  by  their  looks  that 
they  decidedly  preferred  the  illustrious  dead  as  a  softener ; 
and  the  rasping  was  not  resumed  in  our  hearing. 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  99 


CHAPTER   XIIL 

TREATS   OF  THE   BARS   AND   BAR-MAIDS. 

THE  great  number  and  novel  appearance  of  the  public- 
houses  (or  bar-rooms)  immediately  attract  the  visitor, 
especially  if  he  is  dry. 

They  are  located,  for  the  greater  part,  on  comers,  and  are 
quite  uniform  in  appearance,  and  quite  different  from  other 
places  of  business.  They  stand  forth  boldly,  known  in  day 
by  their  yellow-panelled  fronts,  which  extend  half  way  up  and 
are  completed  with  a  .single  plate  of  French  glass,  and  by 
their  marbleized  pilasters ;  and  at  night  by  the  numerous 
gas-jets,  which  fairly  flood  the  place  with  light.  The  panel- 
ling is  either  of  oiled  oak,  or  grained  to  imitate  that  color ; 
and  the  whole  front  is  made  as  extensive  and  attractive  as 
possible. 

There  is  no  shrinking  behind  "oysters  in  every  style," 
billiard-saloons,  cigar-stores,  and  green  shades.  They  in- 
variably have  two,  and  in  many  cases  three  entrances ;  and 
are  subdivided  accordingly.  These  compartments  are  indi- 
cated on  the  glass  of  the  doors ;  viz.,  public  bar,  private 
(or  luncheon)  bar,  and  jug  (or  wholesale)  bar. 

The  bar  stands  very  near  the  entrances,  — with  a  view,  per- 
haps, to  discourage  lounging  by  visitors,  —  and  is  almost 
uniformly  tended  by  young  women. 

This  is  a  novel  sight  to  an  American,  and  makes  him 
curious  as  to  the  crowd  whom  these  maids  serve. 


TOO  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

Drinking  in  England  is  common  to  all  classes.  Ale  or 
sherry  is  ser\'ed  at  the  family  dinner  and  supper ;  and,  just 
before  retiring,  the  family  have  their  grog.  The  grog  in 
question  consists  mainly  of  gin,  cold  or  hot. 

The  divine,  the  hard-headed  merchant,  the  scheming 
lawyer,  the  industrious  farmer,  all  close  the  day  with  grog 
or  wine. 

Many  of  them  don't  appear  to  care  for  the  liquor,  but 
drink  it  because  it  is  the  national  custom ;  and  no  family  is 
expected  to  be  without  a  single  licjuor,  while  those  whose 
means  permit  have  numerous  kinds. 

I  have  frequently  seen  rum,  gin,  brandy,  and  whiskey, 
with  two  or  three  kinds  of  wine,  brought  out  of  an  evening 
for  a  party  of  four.  Accompanying  these  are  the  genial 
soda  and  the  soothing  seltzer. 

With  such  a  state  of  society,  it  follows  that  the  bar-rooms 
should  be  open  and  attractive. 

The  young  women  who  attend  the  bars  are  lady-like ;  and 
the  people  who  drink  there  are,  as  3,  general  thing,  well- 
behaved.  Sometimes  the  former  hear  something  unpleasant ; 
but  they  are  given  time,  after  the  day  is  over,  to  retire  and 
have  a  good  cry. 

The  liquors  are  not  displayed  in  gaudy  decanters  ;  and  the 
reason  is  obvious.  They  are  sold  by  the  measure,  and  not 
by  the  glass.  Of  the  alcoholic  liquors,  there  are  fourpenny 
and  sixpcnny's  worth.  These  are  the  usual  drinks.  The 
amount  called  for  is  drawn  from  the  wood  into  a  measuring 
pot  of  pe\vter,  and  then  emptied  into  the  glass.  With  this 
is  served  cold  or  hot  water  ;  and  the  Englishman,  after  filling 
up  the  glass  with  water,  pours  the  fearfully  diluted  sjjirit  into 
his  stomach.  In  the  lower  saloons  a  "  tuppenny-worth  "  of 
liquor  can  be  bought. 

Whiskey  is  a  modern  beverage  with  them  ;  for,  ten  years 
ago,  it  was  but  little  called  for.  Now  it  is  much  sought 
after.     The  principal  saloon  drink  is  ale,  and  the  ne.xt  gin. 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACXAVmnOW.  ,  '     lOI 

Mixed  or  fancy  drinks  are  unknowA,  only  Is  Aniei'ioaa 
history  informs  them. 

But  an  immense  quantity  of  malt  hquor  is  disposed  of. 
here.  It  is  far  superior  to  the  American  ales  in  that  it  is 
devoid  of  the  bilious-producing  ingredients  so  common  to 
those  ales. 

Every  family  has  its  ale  ;  so  does  every  workman ;  and  in 
many  branches  of  business  it  is  part  of  the  contract,  that 
the  laborer  shall  have  his  pint  of  ale  daily.  It  is  served  in 
the  hospitals  and  to  the  charity-children.  It  is  given  to 
visitors,  and  helps  fonvard  church  convocations.  To  the 
English  it  is  like  water.  Water  ?  Why  —  But  I  will  let 
it  go.     It  is  one  of  the  best  jokes  I  ever  heard. 

When  water  becomes  as  common  in  England  as  is  ale,  the 
finest  drainage  ever  invented  will  not  save  the  country. 

They  drink  differently  from  what  we  do.  Noticeably  they 
dilute  their  liquor  until  its  identity  is  sunken  from  sight. 
And,  again,  it  is  common  to  many  to  purchase  a  pint  of  ale 
or  a  sixpenny  worth  of  gin,  and  divide  it  by  alternate  sips 
with  their  friends.  This  is  quite  common  among  the  labor- 
ing-classes. I  have  seen  a  brawny  working-man  take  his 
wife  and  her  mother  into  the  bar,  and  dip  their  respective 
noses  into  the  same  mug  %vith  a  freedom  that  was  refreshing 
to  the  friends  of  democracy.  The  man  generally  helps  him- 
self first,  which  is  hardly  etiquette  ;  but  self-preser\'ation  is 
the  first  law  of  nature.  There  are  three  kinds  of  ale,  —  pale, 
bitter,  and  mild.  The  bitter  is  the  favorite,  and  pint  tank- 
ards of  it  are  in  popular  demand. 

Until  midnight  these  saloons  are  in  full  feather.  They 
blaze  with  lighted  gas ;  and  the  saloons  on  the  Strand  are  of 
themselves  sufficient  to  illuminate  the  entire  thoroughfare. 
A  ride  down  that  street  or  Fleet  Street  between  eleven  and 
twelve  o'clock  at  night  is  a  constantly-recurring  carnival. 
The  illuminated  theatres  discharging  their  audiences,  the 
hosts  of  lighted  carriages,  cabs,  and  omnibuses,  the  throngs 


102  lvN&:L,AlJ(D  ^ROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

of' gay' ;■« (inland  -still  gayer  women,  the  bright  saloons,  and 
the  many  street-lamps,  go  to  make  up  a  scene  that  fills  the 
stranger  with  surprise  and  delight.  Pouring  in  and  out  of 
the  saloons  is  a  never-ceasing  throng  of  ladies  and  gentle- 
men. 

One  minute  after  twelve,  and  those  dazzling  palaces  are 
dark  and  silent.  Midnight  is  the  hour  by  law  established 
for  closing  the  saloons,  and  these  English  people  have  an 
unpleasant  habit  of  enforcing  their  laws. 

This  is  one  reason,  perhaps,  why  Americans  do  not  linger 
in  England. 

The  multiplicity  of  young  women  in  the  saloons  and 
other  places  of  business  in  England  is  really  marvellous. 
They  are  the  bar-maids,  hotel-clerks,  drapers'  assistants,  re- 
freshment-venders, theatre-ushers,  &c. 

And  thus  England  has  rid  itself  of  the  -  great  female  suf- 
frage horror  by  giving  its  women  something  to  do. 

I  know  of  no  place,  unless  it  is  San  Francisco,  which 
makes  more  of  a  display  of  its  cigar  and  tobacco  stores  than 
London.  We  can  understand  it  in  the  former  place,  where 
everybody  smokes,  and  many  chew ;  but  here  in  London, 
where  you  may  pass  a  hundred  men  on  the  street  with  not 
one  smoking,  the  shop  display  is  a  phenomenon.  The  pipe 
is  the  favorite  ;  but  that  is  generally  smoked  indoors.  I  i:)re- 
sume  the  reason  Londoners  do  not  smoke  more  frecjuently 
on  the  street  is  out  of  regard  for  the  atmosphere,  which 
already  contains  about  all  the  smoke  it  can  stand. 

The  prices  of  cigars  are  lower  here  than  in  America ;  but 
the  quality  is  inferior.  A  twelve-cent  cigar  is  very  high- 
priced,  and  the  six-cent  weeds  are  the  highest  price  in  gen- 
eral use.  In  the  small  villages  it  is  difficult  to  find  a  higher 
priced  cigar  than  four  cents.  Their  people  do  not  use 
them,  and  the  transient  trade  is  not  sufficient  to  pay  the 
keeping. 

Chewing-tobacco,  excepting  the  plug,  cannot  be  obtained 


ENGLAND   FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW,  IO3 

in  all  England.  One  tobacconist  in  London  tried  to  smug- 
gle some  of  it  here ;  but,  our  American  chewing-tobacco 
being  an  adulterated  article,  his  whole  stock  was  confiscated. 
He  confidently  told  me  there  were  other  ways  of  amusing 
himself  less  costly  and  injurious  than  smuggling  fine-cut 
tobacco  into  England  for  the  edification  of  travelling  Ameri- 
cans. 

He  had  a  brand  manufactured  in  Baltimore.  It  was  pure 
fine-cut.     It  was  like  chewing  fiddle-strings. 

There  was  a  man  named  Phillips  staying  at  my  hotel. 
He  came  from  Pennsylvania,  and  was  an  inveterate  tobacco- 
chewer.  Before  he  left  home,  an  Englishman  told  him  he 
could  get  tobacco  and  every  thing  else  in  London.  He 
didn't  bring  any  tobacco  with  him,  because  of  this  informa- 
tion from  an  English  source.  He  told  me  that  seasickness 
was  a  box  at  the  opera  in  comparison  to  the  agony  he 
endured.  Had  it  not  been  for  the  prospect  of  getting 
"  solace  "  in  London,  he  would  have  jumped  overboard,  and 
had  the  company  sued  by  his  wife's  father. 

When  he  got  here  and  found  no  tobacco,  his  grief  was 
terrible.  It  was  like  the  Danbury  boy's  ball  which  fell  into  a 
ditch  :  it  knew  no  bounds.  He  haunted  the  tobacco-stores. 
He  paraded  the  streets  like  a  spectre  out  of  health.  He 
chewed  bits  of  cigars,  smoking-tobacco,  and  all  the  ravel- 
lings  out  of  every  pocket  in  which  he  had  ever  carried 
tobacco.  He  would  talk  by  the  hour  of  the  tobacco  he  had 
seen  thrown  away  because  of  its  being  damaged,  and  dis- 
tinctly remembered  having  thrown  away  a  paper  of  tobacco 
himself  twenty-two  years  ago  last  March.  With  equal 
clearness  he  remembered  every  occasion  he  had  emptied  his 
pockets  of  the  tobacco-dust  accumulated  therein,  "and," 
he  shrieked  in  a  burst  of  remorse,  "  flung  it  away  as  if  it 
had  been  so  much  worthless  sand."  The  point  on  which  he 
dwelt  with  the  most  pain  was  the  fact,  that,  for  a  period  of 
six  months,  he  voluntarily  went  without  tobacco  some  twelve 


104  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

years  ago.  He  invariably  shivered  and  turned  white  when 
reverting  to  it. 

\\'hen  Schenck,  the  American  minister;  returned  to  Lon- 
don from  his  journey  home  for  a  bride,  Phillips  went  at 
once  to  his  house  in  the  almost  hopeless  hope  of  getting  a 
chew,  —  "  just  one  little  chew,"  he  said  to  me. 

But  Schenck  didn't  use  the  weed ;  and  the  poor  devil 
came  back  almost  wild  with  disappointment.  The  next  day 
he  returned  to  America,  solemnly  promising,  that,  if  Heaven 
spared  his  life,  he  would  find  that  Englishman,  and  kill  him. 
And  he  will  keep  his  word.  • 

And  now  we  come  to  shaving. 

It  is  a  little  singular,  that  a  city  occupied  and  sustained 
by  over  three  million  people  cannot  afford  the  luxury  of  a 
human  shave.  There  are  barber-shops,  or  hair-dressing 
saloons  as  they  are  called  here,  in  abundance,  and  they  all 
shave  ;  but  it  is  evident  that  shaving  is  not  their  "  main 
holt."  In  their  signs  they  bargain  to  do  curling,  cutting, 
and  shampooing,  but  barely  a  word  about  shaving.  And  it 
is  just  as  well  they  don't  brag  about  it. 

Better,  I  think. 

My  first  shave  was  undergone  in  a  shop  on  Great  Port- 
land Street,  in  the  fashionable  West  End.  I  got  there  so  as 
to  have  a  luxurious  shave.  It  was  a  hair-dresser's  shop,  with 
a  cheerful  array  of  wooden  skvills  covered  by  the  wrong 
hair.  In  a  back-room  I  found  the  barber's  assistant,  —  a  lit- 
tle girl :  she  called  him  through  another ;  and  he  speedily 
emerged,  wiping  his  breakfasting  chops  on  his  tonsorial 
apron.  I  was  glad  to  see  that  he  had  thin  whiskers,  light- 
colored,  weak  eyes,  and  a  feeble  voice.  I  was  glad  to  see 
such  a  man,  because  I  had  learned  from  Dickens  that  there 
were  very  few  of  any  other  kind  in  England. 

He  had  been  eating  his  breakfast.  All  ordinary  shop- 
keepers live  on  the  same  floor  with  their  i^lares  of  business, 
and  through  the  glass  door  can  be  seen  at  the  proper  time 
partaking  of  the  sweat  of  their  brow. 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  IO5 

This  is  not  only  convenient,  but  saves  the  hire  of  another 
clerk. 

Having  \viped  his  mouth,  he  bade  me  take  an  ordinary 
cane-seat  chair  in  the  middle  of  the  room  (and  the  apart- 
ment looked  as  little  like  a  barber-shop  as  the  garret  of  a 
hypochondriac) ,  and  fell  to  work  in  a  most  mournful  manner 
to  hunt  up  the  various  instruments  for  the  business. 

These  found,  he  spread  a  napkin  over  my  bolt-upright 
form,  and  began  the  shave.  I  asked  him  if  any  one  had 
borrowed  his  regular  chair.  He  answered  mildly  in  the  neg- 
ative. "You  don't  mean  to  say,"  I  expostulated,  "that  you 
shave  the  myriads  which  go  to  make  up  life  in  this  straight- 
backed,  hard-bottomed  chair  !  "  He  said  he  did,  and  that 
the  chair  wasn't  worried  much  either. 

I  learned  from  him  that  the  English  shave  but  little,  and 
do  the  most  of  that  themselves.  It  would  not  pay  him  to 
get  an  American  chair.  I  learned  the  same  story  elsewhere 
many  times  since  then ;  and  I  have  not  yet  seen  one  of  the 
barber-chairs  so  common  in  America. 

There  are  cases  where  an  upright  stick,  with  a  crosspiece 
at  the  top,  is  nailed  to  the  common  house  chair.  As  it  is 
permanently  fastened,  the  victim's  comfort  during  the  shave 
depends  very  much  on  his  anatomy.  Once  in  a  while,  I 
dare  say,  some  one  gets  into  the  chair  who  corresponds  in 
length  and  shape  to  the  man  for  whom  it  was  first  arranged ; 
then  there  is  comfort :  otherwise  the  cross-piece  is  as  likely 
to  tear  his  scalp,  or  injure  his  spinal  cord,  as  to  let  him  off 
unscathed. 

The  shaving  went  on,  in  this  case,  without  injury.  I  sat 
up  as  long  as  I  could  stand  it  with  my  mind  on  the  opera- 
tion, and  then  I  peppered  him  with  questions.  I  asked  him 
about  his  country,  and  his  queen,  and  his  taxes,  and  his  suf- 
ferings, and  elicited  from  him  either  a  plain  negative  or 
affirmative  to  all  the  questions.  Finally  he  put  the  razor  up, 
pointed  to  a-  basin  and  towel,  and  stood  patiently  waiting 


I06  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

my  movements.  Wondering  why  lie  did  not  clean  my  (ace 
himself,  I  took  advantage  of  the  basin  and  towel.  When  I 
got  through,  he  said,  "Three  ha'pence,  sir;"  and  I  under- 
stood by  that  that  the  procession  was  over.  If  I  had  asked 
him,  he  would  have  arranged  my  hair,  brushing  it  by  ma- 
chinery ;  but  I  was  too  dumfounded  to  say  any  thing,  and 
walked  mechanically  away. 

They  do  differently  in  some  of  the  shops,  asking  you  if 
you  will  have  your  hair  brushed,  but  not  offering  to  do  it 
unless  you  wish.  The  general  price  of  a  shave  is  twopence 
(four  cents),  and  fourpence  (eight  cents)  for  the  brush. 
They  do  all  their  brushing  by  machinery,  and  after  tumbling 
up  your  hair,  and  fracturing  your  scalp,  go  at  it  with  hand- 
brushes,  using  the  comb  sparingly. 

We  Americans  are  a  nervous,  active  people  ;  and  the  Eng- 
lish are  represented  to  be  slow  and  methodical.  We  lounge 
in  the  barber's  chair  for  a  quarter-hour  at  a  time,  and  make 
the  operation  of  shaving  a  positive  rest  and  refreshment. 
This  reminds  me  of  an  incident.  An  American  recently, 
visiting  London,  asked  an  English  friend  for  a  good  barber- 
shop. The  Englishman  took  him  to  where  was  a  conspicu- 
ous and  comforting  announcement,  —  "A  good  shave  for  a 
penny."  The  American  went  in,  took  the  cane-seat  chair, 
and  passed  through  the  operation  in  a  sort  of  inexplicable 
stupor.  When  he  had  got  through,  and  had  partly  collected 
his  thoughts,  he  ventured  to  ask  the  barber  what  he  meant 
by  going  through  such  an  infernal  performance.  "  Well, 
you  see,"  said  the  barber  with  exasperating  complacency, 
knowing  his  customer  to  be  an  American,  "  the  English  peo- 
ple are  so  fast  in  their  ways,  that  they  never  could  wait  to  l)e 
shaved  scientifically,  but  must  sit  down  and  have  it  over  in 
a  minute,  and  be  gone  again  to  business." 

"  Oh  !  "  exclaimed  the  bewildered  .Vmerican  as  he  put 
his  hat  on  wrong,  and  stumbled  out  into  the  street. 

Having  cnumenitetl  three  of  the  ilaily  amusements  in- 
dulged in  by  the  English,  I  now  proceed  to  the  fourth. 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW,  IO7 

London  grasps  and  holds  the  talent  of  England,  whether 
we  consider  literature,  drama,  or  art.  It  is  not  to  England 
what  New  York  is  to  America :  it  is  to  England  what  all  the 
leading  cities  of  ours  combined  are  to  our  country.  It  is 
the  repository  of  English  fashion,  English  literature,  English 
law,  English  art,  English  amusement.  It  is  the  grand  focus 
about  which  every  thing  bright,  brilliant,  and  attractive 
centres. 

And  here  the  drama  makes  its  debut  and  earns  its  success. 
There  are  scores  of  theatres  devoted  to  the  legitimate  drama, 
fashionable  opera,  and  varieties.  Drury-lane  and  Covent- 
garden  Theatres  are  licensed  by  her  Majesty,  and  controlled 
by  her  Majesty.  The  playwrights  are  her  Majesty's  ser- 
vants, and  the  royal  troops  guard  these  theatres.  At  both 
of  these  the  opera  in  its  grandest  conception  flourishes 
nightly.  The  Strand  abounds  with  theatres,  and  scores  of 
others  are  scattered  about  the  great  and  wonderful  city. 

When  it  is  considered  that  a  hundred  and  sixty  thousand 
strangers  pour  into  London  daily,  some  idea  of  the  prepara- 
tion to  entertain  them  can  be  formed. 

The  prices  of  admission  at  all  the  places  of  amusement 
are  graded  to  meet  the  wants  and  desires  of  all.  In  a  thea- 
tre where  the  private  box  costs  twenty  dollars,  admittance 
may  be  gained  for  twenty-five  cents.  The  Alhambra,  near 
the  foot  of  Regent  Street,  is  the  largest  theatre  in  the  city. 
As  it  devotes  itself  to  burlesque  operas  and  the  female  leg,  it 
is  the  best  patronized  by  respectable  people,  especially  mer- 
chants and  professional  men. 

To  the  promenade,  which  partly  encircles  the  orchestra- 
floor,  the  admittance  is  but  a  shilling  of  English  money ;  and 
this  promenade  is  nightly  filled  with  fine-looking  men,  and 
handsome  women  of  a  sociable  turn.  The  admittance  to 
the  gallery  is  but  a  sixpence,  and  to  the  private  boxes  twenty 
dollars. 

The  terraces  to  the  old  Haymarket,  of  which  you  and  I 


I08  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW, 

.  read  when  we  were  children,  is  divided  into  awkward  stalls, 
for  which  the  prices  are  from  sixty-three  cents  to  tAvo  dollars. 
This  old  theatre  looks  like  a  Chinese  pagoda  heavily  mort- 
gaged. 

All  the  theatres  are  provided  with  convenient  bars,  tended 
by  young  women. 

And  these  young  women  who  tend  bars  in  England  get 
from  seventy-five  to  one  hundred  and  thirty  dollars  a  year 
and  their  board. 

They  rarely  found  hospitals. 

There  is  one  very  disagreeable  feature  of  London  theatres, 
and  that  is  charging  for  the  programmes.  It  is  only  rarely 
that  you  come  across  a  place  where  the  programme  is  free ; 
and  the  fact  is  conspicuously  advertised.  As  a  general  thing, 
the  programme  costs  from  four  to  twenty-five  cents. 

There  are  generally  three  pieces  played,  —  an  introductory 
farce,  the  main  play,  and  an  afterpiece.  Some  of  the  places 
commence  at  a  quarter  before  seven,  and  many  do  not  close 
until  midnight. 

The  concert  saloons  are  liberally  patronized  by  both  the 
doubtful  and  undoubted  of  English  society.  I  have  seen  at 
these  places  the  rake  and  prostitute  side  by  side  with  the 
honest  tradesman  and  his  wife  and  children,  all  drinking 
beer,  and  intently  watching  the  stage ;  and  yet  the  latter 
heard  nothing  to  offend  them.  At  the  tables  will  be  men 
engaged  in  discussion,  others  in  smoking,  and  many  drink- 
ing ;  and  among  them  move  the  young  women  attendants, 
taking  orders,  and  being  free  from  unhealthy  familiarities. 

I  must  confess,  I  do  not  understand  it. 

Of  London  it  can  truly  be  said,  there  is  license  without 
offence,  and  law  without  outrage. 

The  Cremome  Gardens,  of  which  you  have  frequently 
heard,  are  located  on  the  banks  of  the  Thames,  about 
two  miles  below  Westminster  Abbey  and  the  Houses  of 
Parliament.     It  is  a  magnificent  place,  —  a  garden  of  turf, 


ENGLAND   FROM   A    BACK-WINDOW.  IO9 

concrete  walks,  trees,  shrubs,  bar-rooms,  arbors,  grottos, 
dancing-hall,  theatre,  band-stand,  promenades,  dining-room^, 
restaurants,  parlors,  —  and  all  ablaze  with  gas.  Here  the  law- 
yer, doctor,  merchant,  statesman,  and  politician  rest  from  their 
labors ;  and  here  the  scarlet  woman  spins  the  thread  which 
reaches  out  into  every  avenue  of  the  greatest  city  the  world 
ever  saw,  seeking  whom  it  may  devour,  and  quite  frequently 
devouring  them. 


no  ENGLAND    FKOM    A    HACK-WINDOW, 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

MOTH,    MILDEW,    AND    MARTYRS. 

IT  is  said  that  the  three  greatest  curiosities  in  London  arc 
the  Tower,  St.  Paul's,  and  Westminster  Abbey ;  but  the 
three  in  my  estimation  are  the  hackmen,  costermongers,  and 
Spurgeon. 

Tiie  second  Sunday  morning  in  London  I  was  awakened 
by  tlie  paper  boys  and  the  sellers  of  water-cresses  and  straw- 
berries. Water-cresses  are  a  species  of  fruit  I  rarely  patron- 
ize. I  am  afraid  of  swallowing  the  pits,  and  choking  to 
death.  I  don't  wish  to  be  understood,  by  my  reference  to 
paper  boys  on  this  day,  that  the  London  dailies  issue  a  Sun- 
day paper ;  because  they  do  not. 

They  are  rather  slow  concerns,  are  these  London  dailies. 
They  crowd  their  advertisers  into  repulsive  limits  ;  they  mix 
up  their  matter  without  any  regard  to  classification ;  they 
publish  but  a  beggarly  handful  of  American  news ;  they 
rcj)ort  in  full  the  most  insignificant  speeches ;  they  don't 
seem  to  realize  that  there  is  such  an  attraction  as  condensed 
news  j)aragraphs  ;  they  issue  no  Simday  paper,  and  but  one 
or  two  have  a  weekly  ;  they  ignore  agriculture  and  scicnc  o. 
personals  and  gossip ;  they  carefully  exclude  all  humor  and 
head-lines,  and  come  to  their  readers  every  week-day  ^^ 
sombre  and  mournful  spectacle  that  is  most  exasperating  to 
behold. 

These  papers  which  ore  cried  about  the  streets  of  a  Sun- 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  Ill 

day  morning  are  weeklies,  and  the  boys  and  men  who  shout 
them  are  scarcely  less  gloomy  and  vague  than  their  wares. 

No  living  man  is  able  to  decipher  their  meaning,  unless  he 
sees  their  stock.  The  hawkers  of  water-cresses  and  fruit  are 
equally  intemperate  in  articulation  ;  and  you  are  always  sur- 
prised and  grieved,  on  following  them  up,  to  leam  that  they 
are  vending  water-cresses  and  berries,  instead  of  rhinoceroses 
and  whippoorwills. 

An  omnibus  across  Westminster  Bridge  takes  you  over  the 
Thames  to  that  part  of  the  great  city  where  is  the  Taberna- 
cle, Spurgeon's  church.  It  is  a  severely  plain  building,  with  a 
yard  held  in  by  an  iron  fence  at  the  front.  When  we  arrived, 
omnibuses,  cabs,  and  carriages  were  depositing  their  contents 
in  front  of  the  doors,  while  hundreds  on  foot  were  surging  in 
'through  the  gates.  The  place  directly  in  front  was  a  solid 
mass  of  people  waiting  for  the  doors  to  open.  And  there 
was  another  mass  crowding  in  by  a  side-entrance,  which  we 
joined  on  the  payment  of  a  small  fee  for  the  sustenance  and 
education  of  young  candidates  for  the  ministry.  By  this 
dodge  (that  is,  plan)  a  good  seat  could  be  secured  without 
discomfort,  and  the  interests  of  the  ministry  were  considera- 
bly advanced.  The  thoughtless  would  call  this  killing  two 
birds  with  one  piece  of  pavement.  We  got  a  seat  in  one  of 
the  galleries,  and  found  ourselves  in  an  oblong  building,  with 
several  tiers  of  galleries,  and  a  wide  spread  of  floor,  capable, 
in  all,  of  seating  ten  thousand  persons. 

Ten  thousand  people  quietly  seated,  and  filled  with  reli- 
gious emotions  and  cologne,  is  a  spectacle  rarely  vouch- 
safed to  mortal's  gaze.  Here  they  were,  spread  out  before 
me  like  a  sheet  of  fly-paper  on  a  druggist's  show-case ;  and 
all  the  little  eccentricities  of  a  congregation,  but  rarely  no- 
ticed in  the  average  gathering,  swelled  into  a  volume  of 
startling  dimensions  in  this  huge  audience. 

The  change  of  position,  which  is  but  a  perceptible  rustle 
in  the  average  body  of  worshippers  on  the  close  of  a  prayer 


112  ENGLAND    FROM    A    RACK-WIXnOW. 

or  h}!!!!!,  here  became  a  nistling  sound,  like  the  breaking 
away  of  a  great  body  of  water ;  and  the  preparatory  cough 
or  hawking  as  the  hymn  was  given  out  arose  from  ten  thou- 
sand throats,  and  became  magnified  into  a  clap  of  prolonged 
thunder. 

The  man  who  steps  on  the  end  of  a  footstool  and  tips  it 
up,  so  that  it  frightens  an  entire  ordinary  audience,  was  here 
multiplied  by  thirty  with  the  most  cheering  success. 

And,  when  all  the  ladies  took  out  their  handkerchiefs  to 
wipe  their  mouths,  it  seemed  so  much  like  a  snow-storm, 
that  I  had  put  on  my  hat,  and  pulled  it  down  over  my  eyes, 
before  realizing  my  mistake.  The  turning  of  the  leaves  of 
ten  thousand  hymn-books  need  not  be  described.  Any 
imagination  enjojing  the  most  moderate  health  can  depict 
the  noise  without  trouble.  The  nearest  thing  I  can  liken  it 
to  is  the  rolling  and  breaking  of  the  surf  upon  a  New-Hamp- 
shire coast. 

When  I  got  across  Westminster  Bridge  again,  on  my  way 
back,  I  got  dowTi  in  Whitehall,  and,  passing  through  the 
archway  under  the  Horse  Guards,  came  out  at  the  lower  end 
of  the  Mall  which  skirts  St.  James's  Park,  passing  before  the 
grand  houses  of  the  Prince  of  Wales  and  several  noblemen, 
and  ending  in  front  of  Buckingham  Palace,  —  the  town  resi- 
dence of  the  Queen. 

The  Mall  is  a  broad  avenue  of  trees.  On  the  right  are 
the  homes  of  nobilit)',  and  on  the  left  is  the  park.  The 
first  building  is  Carlton  Terrace,  a  tenement  for  nobility ; 
and  opposite  is  the  most  curious  spectacle  to  be  witnessed 
an)^vhere  in  the  civilized  world.  It  is  a  broad  walk,  which 
here  skirts  the  park,  as  smooth  and  hard  as  a  billiard-ball. 
It  is  shaded  by  noble  trees,  and  is  beautifully  surrounded 
by  turf.  Just  opposite  are  the  French-plate  windows  and 
French  awnings  of  the  nobility  tenements.  And  here  on 
this  broad  walk  are  rough  booths  retailing  cakes  and  other 
sweets,  and  milk  fresh  from  the  cow.     There  is  no  sell  about 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  II3 

• 

this  last,  as  the  cow  in  question  is  tied  to  each  booth,  helping 
itself  from  a  bundle  of  hay,  and  preparing  for  the  successful 
development  of  coming  agricultural  experiments.  Almost 
the  entire  walk  in  this  section  is  littered  with  these  booths 
and  their  refuse  ;  and  what  is  left  from  them  is  occupied  by 
their  customers,  —  hungry  and  aspiring  juveniles  and  serv- 
ants. 

George  the  Fourth  is  responsible  for  this ;  and  it  is  in 
illustration  of  the  conser\'atism  of  the  English.  In  a  freak, 
and  when  occupying  Carlton  House,  he  directed  that  so 
many  poor  people  should  have  the  right  to  establish  booths 
of  this  kind  on  the  broad  walk  opposite,  and  that  the  per- 
mission should  pass  as  an  inheritance  to  their  heirs  for  all 
time.  Frequent  efforts  have  been  made  to  recover  this 
ground  to  its  legitimate  use,  and  wipe  out  the  disgraceful 
excrescence  from  the  beautiful  mall,  but  without  success.  It 
has  passed  from  generation  to  generatfon,  and  will  undoubt- 
edly pass  down  to  the  farthest  generation,  without  relief, 
unless  some  of  the  successors  become  less  mercenary  than 
the  present  possessors,  and  take  what  they  can  get  for  them- 
selves, and  let  their  heirs  look  out  for  their  own  sustenance. 

The  houses  of  the  Prince  of  Wales  and  the  Duke  of 
Edinburgh  are  on  the  Mall.  The  royal  family  live  happily, 
I  believe.  Photographs  of  the  Princess  of  Wales  dancing 
lier  children  on  her  back  are  on  sale.  This  is  not  "  put  on." 
She  is  an  amiable  lady,  a  devoted  \vife,  and  a  model  mother. 
The  English  are  very  fond  of  her.  The  Duke  of  Edinburgh 
wears  a  striped  shirt,  and  is  generally  photographed  with  one 
leg  over  the  back  of  a  chair,  which  imparts  a  grace  and 
majesty  to  his  person  that  are  quite  imposing. 

I  was  in  a  crowd  in  Cheapside  the  other  day  when  the 
duke  and  duchess  drove  by  to  attend  the  opening  of  a  new 
school-building,  and  saw  scores  of  the  English  run  along 
with  the  carriage,  on  both  sides,  and  almost  put  their  faces 
into  the  \vindows  in  their  eagerness  to  scan  the  features  of 


114  ENGLAND    FROM    A    UACK-WINDOW. 

their  beloved  royalty.  How  different  are  the  Americans  ! 
They  would  have  stood  on  the  walk  like  a  row  of  dummies, 
and  never  thought  to  ha\e  poked  their  noses  into  the  car- 
riage-windows. I  sometimes  think  our  people  will  never 
learn  good-breeding.  The  duchess  is  a  girl  of  seventeen, 
with  very  red  cheeks  and  a  ball-room  expression  ;  and  he 
is  a  big  fellow,  with  a  coarse  mouth  and  sleepy  eyes,  but 
good-looking  withal,  and  having  a  finely  cultivated  ear  for 
profanity. 

liere,  also,  is  Marlborough  House,  the  best-looking  of  the 
lot.  The  Duke  of  Marlborough  lives  here,  and  is  a  man 
deeply  interested  in  mechanics.  He  offers  a  number  of 
hundred  pounds  to  the  man  who  will  fly  safely  from  the 
roof  of  his  house.  He  wants  to  get  up  an  excitement,  and 
sell  sittings  in  his  trees  for  a  guinea  each,  I  fear.  But  I  hope 
he  is  sincere  about  it.  There  was  a  man  here  wth  a  flying- 
machine,  who  contemplated  making  the  experiment ;  but, 
having  descended  on  his  crown  from  an  altitude  of  five  hun- 
dred feet,  the  fall  drove  the  idea  out  of  his  head. 

But  here  is  Buckingham  Palace,  the  home  of  the  best  of 
queens. 

The  open  space  before  the  huge  iron  fence  is  of  gravel, 
which,  night  and  day,  is  being  crunched  under  somebody's 
feet.  Men  with  hats  which  seem  to  be  constantly  inviting 
the  sun  to  strike  the  occupants  down,  and  red  coats  rather 
crusty  in  the  tails,  are  patrolling  at  the  gates.  It  is  an  im- 
mense buikling,  with  no  natural  beauties  between  it  and  the 
fence,  excepting  an  occasional  grocer-cart  and  i)air  of  black 
pants  with  a  red  stripe  down  the  leg.  But  it  is  a  large  build- 
ing of  brown  stone,  with  a  most  ample  garden  back  of  it, 
enclosed  by  a  wall  high  enough  to  suit  the  most  exacting 
coal-dealer. 

That  reminds  me  that  they  don't  cart  their  coal  about  in 
loose  bulk  here,  but  trans])ort  a  great  deal  of  their  ice  that 
way,  which  they  shovel  into  sidewalk-hatchways ;    but  tlieir 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  II5 

coal  they  carry  in  bags,  one  hundred  pounds  to  the  bag. 
Judas  Iscariot  carried  the  bag,  you  will  remember. 

The  most  attractive  object  to  me  about  the  exterior  of 
this  four-story  slate-roof  palace  is  the  coat-of-arms  over  the 
gateway.  It  is  the  English  coat-of-arms,  —  a  lion  and  a  uni- 
corn on  their  hind-legs,  squaring  off  at  each  other.  I  can't 
tell  the  number  of  hours  I  have  remained  planted  in  front 
of  that  gateway,  admiring  those  figures ;  and  for  nearly  an 
hour  this  Sunday  afternoon  I  stood  leaning  against  the  St. 
James  fence  in  a  trance  of  delight.  The  lion  has  a  smile  on 
its  face.     It  is  the  first  lion  I  ever  saw  laugh. 

I  have  seen  thousands  of  these  coats-of-arms,  but  never 
saw  a  sedate  lion  :  he  is  always  laughing,  as  if  it  were  the 
funniest  joke  he  ever  heard  of,  —  being  matched  against  a 
unicorn  with  a  barber-pole  between  its  eyes.  And  it  is 
absurd,  when  you  come  to  think  of  it ;  for  a  lion  could  whip 
a  unicorn  around  a  stump,  and  have  its  barber-pole  in  front 
of  a  milliner-shop,  inside  of  nine  seconds. 

But  I  like  to  see  a  lion  look  pleased.  I  think  we  were 
all  intended  to  be  happy.  A  lion  that  won't  laugh  is  no 
society  for  me.  As  for  a  unicorn,  I  am  not  much  that  way. 
I  enter  heartily  into  the  Hfe-sentiment  of  a  lamented  friend, 
who,  years  ago,  went  to  a  better  home ;  which  was,  "  Gol- 
darn  a  unicorn  anyway  !  " 

I  made  my  way  by  omnibus  to  Smithfield,  —  a  large  square 
near  to  Holborn,  and  famous  the  world  over  as  the  scene 
of  martyrdom.  In  Fox's  "  Book  of  Martyrs  "  is  a  picture  of 
it ;  and  while  its  surface  is  much  changed  since  the  triumphs 
of  Bloody  Mary,  and  the  buildings  reproduced  in  the  sketch 
are  gone,  yet  those  which  now  stand  are  exact  copies 
of  them.  If  one  could  shut  his  eyes  to  the  modem  mar- 
ket of  brick,  glass,  and  iron,  which  supplanted  its  famous 
predecessor,  he  could  easily  imagine  he  was  moved  back 
several  centuries,  and  could  almost  smell  the  burning  fagots. 
The  buildings  look  just  as  deserted  and  gloomy  as  those 
which  once  chilled  my  blood  in  the  print. 


Il6  ENGLAND    FROM    A    DACK-WINDOW. 

This  square  lias  been  a  slaughter-pen  in  its  time,  and  has 
witnessed  such  agony  and  despair  as  make  the  Tower  of 
London  seem  a  sort  of  picnic  in  comparison.  That  was  the 
period  when  it  was  death  to  construe  God's  word  differently 
than  your  neighbor  did ;  when  zeal  for  God's  service  was 
stronger  than  it  is  now,  and  nobody  was  happy.  They  had 
more  religion  than  we  of  this  time  have  ;  but  all  their  genera- 
tions never  saw  so  happy  and  beautiful  a  sabbath  as  this. 
But  the  burnings  are  abolished  now,  owing  to  a  free  press 
and  the  scarcity  of  fagots.  There  is  nothing  about  a  coal- 
fire  to  stimulate  fanaticism. 

Right  in  the  corner  of  the  square,  where  a  narrow  street 
comes  in,  and  in  the  first  building  of  the  next  angle,  is  what 
is  called  a  Nonnan  archway.  It  is  very  old,  as  the  stone 
of  which  it  is  composed  is  broken  and  blackened. 

It  is  a  tenement-house  built  exactly  over  and  about  this 
arch,  both  for  the  purpose  of  preserving  it  as  a  relic,  and  to 
save  the  expense  of  a  new  arch.  Through  this  arch  the 
depth  of  the  building,  by  the  beginning  of  a  wonderfully 
narrow  and  crooked  and  quaint  way  called  Cloth  Lane,  — 
from  the  fact,  that,  fifteen  or  twenty  thousand  years  ago,  it 
was  occupied  by  cloth-dealers,  —  and  we  have  a  graveyard  of 
about  the  eighth  of  an  acre,  covered  with  rusty  stones,  broken 
bottles,  and  other  debris.  On  two  sides  of  this  repository 
of  the  dead  are  the  rear  of  tenements,  with  dirty  windows, 
stained  walls,  and  unhealthy-looking  people  peering  through 
the  glass.  There  is  not  a  spear  of  green  grass  in  the  entire 
yard ;  but  all  of  it  is  as  black  and  despondent  as  the  tene- 
ment-walls which  have  choked  it  dead.  I  pass  down  a 
path  between  two  walls  (the  one  skirting  the  yard,  and  the 
other  being  the  side  of  a  warehouse,  into  which  are  let  nu- 
merous tablets  of  the  dead,  who  were  too  late  or  too  proud 
to  go  into  the  yard,  I  thought),  and  I  am  at  the  door  of  the 
oldest  church  in  London,  —  famous  Bartholomew,  just  as  the 
afternoon  service  begins. 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    I?ACK-WINnOW,  11/ 

I  take  ray  seat  with  a  motley-looking  congregation,  and 
stare  with  all  my  eyes  at  the  astonishing  interior.  I  try  to 
fasten  my  attention  upon  the  service ;  but  between  the 
mouldy  and  crumbling  walls,  the  reflection  on  the  past,  and 
a  beadle  with  gold  lace  on  his  coat,  a  gold  band  on  his  hat, 
and  a  pair  of  active  and  industrious  boots  on  his  feet,  I  give 
up  in  despair,  and  collapse  into  a  sort  of  stupor,  which  holds 
me  through  the  service. 

Nearly  the  whole  enjoyment  of  visiting  just  such  places  as 
this  is  lost  through  the  inability  of  the  beholder  to  think  fast 
enough. 

Here  is  the  relic  of  a  buildings  which,  eight  hundred  years 
ago,  extended  to  the  archway  on  the  square,  and  that  was  its 
main  entrance.  It  was  a  monastery  then,  echoing  to  the 
footsteps  of  solemn  monks  and  their  impressive  chanting. 
It  has  rotted  away  by  piecemeal  for  these  many  centuries. 
It  was  hacked  and  cut  by  the  grim  followers  of  Cromwell ; 
and  to-day  this  remnant,  with  its  miserably  broken  pillars 
and  walls,  is  continuing  the  struggle  before  the  eyes  of  the 
nineteenth  centurj^^  The  floor  is  broken ;  the  pillars  which 
form  the  arched,  roof,  and  separate  the  aisles  from  the  nave, 
are  worn  in  places  to  such  a  degree  as  to  make  one  sitting 
near  them  quite  nervous  and  thoughtful ;  the  walls  are 
musty,  gashed,  and  filled  with  doorways  with  no  stairs  lead- 
ing up  to  them  ;  and  windows  blocked  up,  and  tombs  quaint, 
scratched,  and  mutilated.  Back  of  the  pulpit  are  two  or 
three  stone  coffins,  whose  occupants,  ages  ago,  removed  for 
better  ventilation  ;  and  scattered  near  them  are  two  or  three 
tons  of  stone  cornice,  or  window  or  door  facings,  saved  from 
the  wreck  of  the  main  building. 

It  is  a  singular  sensation  an  American  experiences  upon 
visiting  this  dirty  and  broken-winded  fabric.  "  Why  isn't  it 
torn  down  at  once,  and  a  new  building  put  up  in  its  place?  " 
you  ask.  Why  don't  you  tear  up  the  body  of  your  great- 
grandfather from  its  resting-place  in   the   churchyard,  and 


Il8  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

put  a  new  body  in  its  place?  But  perhaps  you  never 
thought  of  it.  But  it  can  be  done.  So  these  people  can 
tear  down  this  old  church,  and  erect  another ;  but  they 
haven't  thought  of  it. 

When  one  of  our  home  church-buildings  loses  a  couple  of 
shingles  from  the  roof,  or  a  figure  out  of  its  carpet,  or  the 
first  tone  of  its  paint,  one  church-meeting  follows  another, 
former  neighbors  cease  to  exchange  greetings  and  "  to  bor- 
row a  cup  of  milk  until  Henry  gets  back  from  school "  from 
each  other,  and  picnics  are  given  up,  and  brotherly  love 
suspended,  until  the  point  is  carried,  the  repair  made,  and 
a  debt  incurred.  • 

But  here  is  a  church  that  for  five  hundred  years  has  been 
in  a  condition  to  get  the  whole  congregation  by  the  ears, 
and  to  send  the  entire  parish  to  the  Devil ;  but  the  people  go 
patiently  along,  raising  a  little  money  in  this  direction  and  a 
little  in  that,  and  using  it  as  they  get  it  to  replace  a  stone,  or 
prop  up  a  pillar ;  and  the  following  Sunday  they  drop  gently 
in  and  sit  for  an  hour  on  a  hard  bench,  worshipping  God 
and  admiring  the  improvements.  It  will  be  five  hundred 
years  more,  I  imagine,  before  they  get  much  beyond  that ; 
for  Time  appears  to  be  about  as  active  as  they  are. 

But  there  are  no  painted  pews  here ;  simply  hard  bench- 
es, and  exasperatingly  backed  chairs.  The  sittings  are  not 
stationary,  but  are  competent  to  be  moved  about  like  the 
settees  in  our  Sunday  schools.  Did  you  ever  fall  over  one 
of  those  settees  which  had  been  moved  without  your  knowl- 
edge by  the  "other  fellow"?  What  hajipy  days  were 
those  !  They  will  never  come  again,  you  know.  There  is 
no  carpet.  Blank  stone  floors  are  what  the  English  delight 
in  for  their  churches.  A  stone  floor  is  not  so  sightly  or 
comforting  as  a  carpet,  but  is  better  adapted  for  burying 
people  beneath.  You  could  plant  them  under  a  carpet,  I 
suppose ;  but  it  wouldn't  be  so  pleasant,  especially  in  dog- 
days. 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  1 19 

Some  of  the  churches  have  floors  of  party-colored  tile, 
which  are  very  pretty,  and  would  answer,  perhaps,  the  natu- 
ral craving  in  our  country  for  a  carpet ',  but,  with  snow  on 
the  heel  of  the  incoming  worshipper,  the  result  would  be  most 
disastrous  to  the  first  half-dozen  pews  from  the  door. 


I20  ENGLAND    FROM   A   BACK-WINDOW. 


CHAPTER  XV. 


A   RAMBLE   OVER   LONDON. 


THERE  is  more  to  see  in  London  than  is  comprised 
within  the  philosophy  of  any  compiler  of  guide-books. 
And  "  of  making  many  "  (guide)  "  books  there  is  no  end." 
Routledge's  (English)  and  Pascoe's  (American)  are  the 
best.  But  I  advise  my  readers  who  contemplate  visiting 
London  to  buy  all  the  guide-books  they  can  get  hold  of. 
Each  one  contains  matters  different  from  what  can  be  found 
in  all  of  the  others ;  and  the  first  object  of  the  tourist  should 
be  to  sift  down  the  contents  of  all,  and  go  to  work  in  an 
intelligent  manner  to  see  every  thing  worth  being  seen  in 
the  most  wonderful  city  in  the  world.  A  thorough  ob- 
ser\'ation  of  London  and  Great  Britain  gives  the  observer 
a  new  interest  in  history,  and  confers  an  additional  charm 
upon  fiction ;  and  yet  all  the  guide-books  combined  fall 
short  of  the  work.  The  chief  dependence  of  the  visitor  is 
in  prowling  around.  He  should  burrow  into  strange  courts, 
and  thread  all  passable  streets.  He  should  keep  open  eyes 
and  a  ready  tongue,  and  what  the  former  cannot  fothom  the 
latter  should  bring  to  light.  The  English  are  obliging  to 
strangers  ;  and,  if  a  searcher  after  information  does  not  get 
it,  the  fault  must  lie  with  himself. 

The  next  numerous  volumes  are  railway-guides.  The 
chief  is  Bradshaw's,  much  larger  than  Appleton's,  so  com- 
mon in  America,  and  costing  but  twelve  cents,  or  less  tlian 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  121 

one-quarter  of  the  American  work.  Then  there  are  a  num- 
ber much  smaller  than  Bradshaw's,  which  can  be  bought  for 
two  cents  each,  and  even  less  than  that  where  a  party  takes 
a  barrel  of  them ; "  but  it  is  rarely  a  traveller  needs  that 
quantity.  Besides  these,  the  companies  themselves  issue  a 
guide  every  month  or  so,  —  a  voluminous  work,  giving  the 
time  and  stations  on  their  main  and  branch  hnes,  and  sold 
for  two  cents.  These  English  railway-guides  are  the  very 
essence  of  all  that  is  maddening ;  and  there  is  nothing,  un- 
less it  is  a  contrary  woman,  which  will  drive  a  man  so  deliri- 
ous as  these  very  guides.  They  are  making  people  morose 
and  discontented,  dividing  famihes,  and  crowding  the  lunatic- 
asylums.  It  is  no  wonder  there  is  so  much  drinking  here. 
A  single  page  of  Bradshaw's  would  break  up  a  nest  of  hor- 
nets, and  drive  full  two-thirds  of  them  into  drunkards' 
graves. 

The  very  centre  of  London  life  is  at  the  junction  of  the 
several  streets  in  front  of  the  Bank,  Mansion  House,  and 
Royal  Exchange.  The  Bank  is  a  one-story  granite  fabric, 
about  high  enough  to  sling  a  five-year-old  boy  over ;  and  the 
Royal  Exchange  is  an  open  court,  with  statues,  benches, 
conceited  and  slim-legged  clerks,  and  greasy  loungers.  The 
Mansion  House  is  the  official  residence  of  the  lord-mayor ; 
and,  of  a  morning  in  "  the  season,"  his  brilliant  equipage, 
with  scarlet  coachmen  and  scarlet  footmen,  may  be  seen 
working  through  the  jam  of  vehicles  which  choke  up  these 
thoroughfares.  If  his  chariot  is  not  in  sight,  the  patient 
waiter  is  sure  to  be  rewarded  by  the  gorgeous  turnout  of  the 
lord  high  sheriff,  with  its  purple  and  gold  livery,  and  pink 
silk  stockings,  and  powdered  wigs.  To  a  republican  with 
fifteen  dollars  in  his  pocket  this  sight  is  very  enervating. 

It  costs  several  millions  of  dollars  annually  to  carr}'-  on 
this  city  government  (the  expense  of  the  officers  merely)  ; 
and,  when  the  price  is  compared  v\'ith  the  municipality,  the 
discrepancy  is  simply  ridiculous.     The  lord-mayor  and  the 


122  ENGLAND    FROM    A    RACK-WINDOW, 

lord-sheriff  control  only  that  insignificant  portion  of  London 
called  "  the  city,"  whose  limits  are  no  greater  now  than 
when  Westminster  was  separated  from  it  by  fields,  with  the 
little  village  of  Charing  Cross  between.  All  the  brick  and 
mortar  and  pavements  adjoining  are  separate  parishes,  —  with 
the  exception  of  A\^estminster,  which  is  a  city,  —  and  are  gov- 
erned by  the  church-wardens  of  each  parish.  The  lord- 
mayor  has  no  more  to  do  with  them  than  an  Egyptian  violin- 
ist has.     But  it  is  all  called  London. 

Opening  off  from  this  neighborhood  is  Cannon  Street, 
where  stands  St.  Swithin's  Church.  In  a  small  recess  in  this 
church  is  a  small  stone,  of  irregular  shape  and  inoffensive 
appearance.  You  have  passed  thousands  of  just  such  bits 
of  rock  as  this,  and  fallen  over  some  of  them  without  feeling 
your  bump  of  reverence  elevate  itself,  unless  you  happened 
to  strike  squarely  upon  it.  And  yet  this  recess  was  built  into 
this  holy  edifice  solely  to  accommodate  this  stone,  and  an 
iron  grating  is  over  it  to  protect  it  from  the  people.  They 
could  have  taken  down  the  grating  when  I  was  about. 

Centuries  before  your  grandfather  cut  his  first  teeth,  this 
stone  had  graduated  in  political  honors.  It  stood  in  the 
middle  of  the  street ;  and  every  crowned  monarch  was  ex- 
pected to  strike  his  sword  against  it,  and  proclaim  himself 
king.  It  is  the  same  stone  Jack  Cade  struck  with  his 
weapon,  and  delicately  insinuated  that  he  was  Lord  of 
London.  There  are  many  people  who  think  Jack  Cade 
was  a  martjT  to  principle.  When  I  was  a  boy,  I  walked  five 
miles  through  a  rain-storm  to  borrow  a  yellow-covered  book 
called  "Jack  Cade,"  under  the  impression  that  it  was  a  com- 
panion-volume to  "  Dick  Turpin."  I  have  since  then  had 
my  own  opinion  respecting  him,  and  never  miss  an  oppor- 
tunity, when  in  the  presence  of  the  Cades,  to  vent  that 
oi:)inion  witli  emphasis.  It  was  a  large  stone  in  those  days  : 
but  people  got  to  putting  their  hands  on  it  for  the  sake  of 
its  associations ;  and  it  commenced  to  wear  so  rapidly,  that 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  1 23 

it  was  taken  up  and  put  here.  I  rolled  up  my  sleeves,  and 
worked  my  hand  through  the  grating,  and  touched  the 
sacred  rock  myself,  and  have  felt  much  better  ever  since, 
A  bootblack  who  was  present,  and  overheard  the  conversa- 
tion between  myself  and  friend,  rolled  up  his  sleeve  also, 
and  received  the  magic  contact.  He  had  been  stationed 
for  two  years  at  this  spot,  and  never  knew  till  now  the  sacred 
nature  of  the  stone.  I  am  afraid  that  the  money  and  cloth- 
ing which  I  have  contributed  to  the  education  of  the  hea- 
then abroad,  in  the  past  ten  years,  have  been  misapplied. 

When  the  Romans  occupied  London,  before  the  advent 
of  our  Saviour,  this  stone  was  used  by  them  as  a  standard  of 
distances.  Watling  Street,  which  is  near  by,  is  supposed  to 
have  been  the  Roman  road  which  ran  across  the  centre 
of  the  London  of  that  day,  and  extended  the  full  length  of 
the  country.  None  of  us  know  who  are  the  descendants 
of  the  ancient  Romans  ;  but  all  of  us  know  who  are  not.  I 
refer  to  the  road  commissioners  of  the  nineteenth  century. 

The  post-ofifice,  just  before  six  p.m.,  is  an  object  of  interest 
to  a  stranger.  At  that  hour  the  night-mail  closes  to  the 
usual  postage  ;  but,  by  paying  a  penny  extra,  a  letter  caa  be 
posted  for  it  until  half-past  seven.  Twopence  will  give  you 
until  nine  o'clock  to  get  your  letter  off;  and,  with  a  heavier 
fee,  you  gain  two  hours  more.  I  judge  by  this  that  the 
night-mail  leaves  at  eleven  o'clock ;  and  instead  of  keeping 
the  bags  open  to  all  mail  until  that  time,  as  is  done  in  Amer- 
ica, they  close  them  to  all  but  the  fees  after  six  o'clock,  and 
thus  add  an  important  item  to  the  post-office  revenue. 
At  five  minutes  to  six  o'clock  the  rush  to  the  letter-box  is 
something  remarkable.  The  crowd  is  composed  mostly  of 
clerks,  some  of  whom  have  bags  full  of  letters ;  and,  during 
the  five  minutes  in  question,  the  flutter  of  letters  as  they  go 
into  the  opening  can  be  plainly  heard  in  the  middle  of  the 
street,  if  it  doesn't  look  too  much  like  rain. 

Within  a  few  rods  of  the  post-ofiice  is  Guildhall,  the  city 


124  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

hall  of  London  ;  and  a  little  farther  on  is  Bishopgate  Street, 
and  Crosby  Hall,  where  Richard  the  Third  held  revels.  It 
is  now  a  huge  restaurant ;  and  the  famous  banqueting-room 
accommodates  city  diners,  and  the  other  day  accommodated 
me,  where  I  sat  for  a  half-hour  wrestling  with  a  chop  and  a 
plate  of  cold  cauliflower,  and  speculating  on  the  oak  carv- 
ings, where  the  famous  king  used  to  scratch  his  back  when 
he  wore  a  plaster,  without  doubt,  and  on  the  grand  stained 
windows,  through  which  he  swore  at  the  weather.  It  is  a 
singular  fancy  converting  an  historical  place  into  a  restau- 
rant ;  but  a  good  restaurant  and  a  relic  are  both  sustained  by 
the  plan,  and  the  heart  and  stomach  are  both  strengthened. 
In  this  neighborhood  are  the  taverns  where  the  wits  and 
professionals  of  bygone  times  held  revels,  whose  walls  have 
echoed  to  the  shouts  of  Johnson,  Hook,  Shakspeare,  Hood, 
Jerrold,  and  others  whose  names  we  are  familiar  with,  but  of 
whose  antics  we  fortunately  know  little. 

Here  Smith  the  divine  thundered  his  anathemas,  and 
Smith  tlie  wit  ventilated  his  hon-mots,  and  Smith  the  sol- 
dier strode  his  stride,  and  Smith  the  orator  burned  with 
his  eloquence,  and  Smith  the  ruler  gave  forth  his  law,  and 
Smith  the  poet  sang  his  songs,  and  Smith  the  Roman 
statesman  displayed  his  logic,  and  Smith  the  Druid  chanted 
his  dirge. 

It  is  noticeable,  that,  when  any  thing  has  been  going  on, 
the  Smiths  were  round. 

There  are  a  host  of  Londoners  who  never  saw  the  inside 
of  these  taverns ;  never  were  inside  of  the  Tower  of  Lon- 
don, nor  St.  Paul's  Cathedral :  but  there  are  a  host  of  those 
who  have  been  inside  of  Newgate,  which  is  not  far  off.  The 
Newgate  Prison  of  Jack  Sheppard's  and  Jonathan  Wild's 
day  is  not  here.  Nearly  a  hundred  years  ago.  Lord  Cor- 
don's mob  of  "  No  Popery  "  rascals  fired  the  old  jirison  to 
release  their  fellows ;  and  a  new  prison  has  taken  its  i)lace. 

The  prison  looks  very  much  like  the  reservoir  on  Kagle 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINnOW.  1 25 

Street,  Albany ;  only  its  walls  are  blackened  by  smoke. 
There  is  a  narrow  doorway  set  into  the  wall,  and  approached 
by  several  stone  steps,  which  lets  into  the  office,  where  sits  a 
little  old  gentleman  with  as  uncompromising  an  appearance 
as  the  jail  itself.  He  is  the  governor,  and  should  never  be 
superseded ;  but  he  would  make  the  most  cheerful  album 
look  sick.  A  policeman  showed  me  over  the  prison.  I 
don't  know  as  it  differs  materially  from  any  other  jail.  The 
court-yard,  where  the  executions  take  place,  and  where  a  scaf- 
fold was  now  being  put  in  readiness,  and  taking  on  its  awful 
shape ;  the  stocks,  where  the  prisoners  to  be  flogged  are 
secured  while  the  delicate  sensation  is  being  produced ;  the 
casts  of  murderers  executed  here,  taken  after  the  fatal  chok- 
ing, and  all  bearing  the  impress  of  it  in  their  nostrils ;  the 
irons  which  Jack  Sheppard  wore,  and  which  a  dry-goods  clerk 
could  hardly  lift ;  and  the  tri-square  passage,  beneath. whose 
flagging  lies  what  is  left  of  those  who  have  suffered  death 
here,  —  were  the  chief  objects  of  interest. 

I  must  confess  that  I  am  just  morbid  enough  to  have  lin- 
gered some  few  minutes  in  the  passage  of  sepulchre.  There 
was  a  strange  interest  to  me  in  reading  the  rudely  carved 
initials  in  the  wall  over  where  may  have  been  the  head  of 
the  owners.  Immediately  after  the  execution  the  body  is 
brought  here,  and  dropped  into  a  hole  beneath  one  of  the 
flags,  covered  with  lime  (as  if  the  poor  ^^Tetch  had  not 
been  slack  enough  in  his  life),  topped  off  with  earth,  and 
the  flagging  is  replaced ;  and,  unless  some  rough  but  good- 
natured  warder  cuts  his  initials  on  the  wall  adjoining,  the 
place  of  his  disappearance  is  never  kno\\Ti. 

In  a  brief  space  of  time  the  body  which  some  fond 
mother  has  laughingly  cuddled  in  her  arms  is  rotted  and 
absorbed,  and  room  made  for  the  next  comer. 

A  yard  enclosed  by  a  huge  sombre  stone  wall  separates 
Newgate  from  the  Old  Bailey.  In  through  a  gate  dri\-es  the 
prison  van  daily  \vith  its  precious  freight.     An  underground 


126  ENGLAND    FROM    A    HACK-WINDOW. 

passage  communicates  from  tlie  court  to  the  prison.  Tlie 
court  itself,  although  much  the  older  building  of  the  two, 
is  of  the  same  material  and  design,  and  is  similar  in  all  its 
outward  features.  There  are  several  rooms  for  the  holding 
of  courts  ;  but  the  most  interesting  .s  that  for  the  trial  of  im- 
portant criminals.  In  the  box  where  Sheppard,  Turpin,  and 
Duval  figured  is  a  stairway  leading  to  the  vaults  below, 
where  the  prisoners  remain  after  being  removed  from  the 
jail,  and  waiting  for  their  turn  up  stairs.  The  first  cell  is 
that  said  to  have  been  occupied  by  Sheppard.  The  police- 
man who  escorted  me  over  the  prison  tried  to  make  me 
believe  that  Sheppard  lies  buried  in  the  lime  under  the  pas- 
sage. 

I  told  him  I  had  heard  the  interment  was  St.  Giles-in-the 
Fields ;  but  he  said  bodies  were  not  allowed  to  be  removed 
from  the  prison  after  execution,  and  so  the  housebreaker 
must  have  been  interred  here.  But  Sheppard  was  not  exe- 
cuted at  Newgate,  but  at  Tyburn  ;  and  it  is  not  probable  his 
body  was  returned  to  the  prison.  Both  Sheppard  and  Tur- 
pin (Palmer)  were  buried  in  the  yard  of  St.  Giles-in-the- 
Fields,  opposite  ,Charing<,Cross  Hotel ;  and  are  there  yet,  as 
contented  as  is  possible  for  men  of  their  temperament  to  be. 

Newgate  Street  runs  parallel  with  Fleet  Street,  and  slants 
into  Holborn.  The  prisoner  was  put  on  his  coffin  in  a  cart, 
and  the  procession  made  up  of  the  condemned,  the  clergy, 
sheriff,  prison-wardens,  and  hangman.  Accompanied  by  a 
mixed  rabble,  which  rapidly  augmented  as  they  proceeded, 
they  came  out  into  Molborn,  and  drew  up  in  front  of  the 
venerable  pile  called  the  Church  of  St.  Sepulchre,  where  the 
hero  received  a  bouquet  of  flowers  and  a  spiritual  injunc- 
tion, and  then  proceeded  up  High  Holborn  Street  to  where 
it  becomes  Oxford  Street,  through  Oxford  Street  to  where  is 
now  the  Oxford-street  entrance  to  Hyde  Bark,  but  which 
was  then  an  open  common  ;  and  here  the  execution  took 
l)lace.     Sixteen-btring  Jack,  in   1774,  was  the  last  to  receive 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  1 27 

the  bouquet  from  the  steps  of  St.  Sepulchre.  A  plate  in 
the  stone  base  of  Hyde-park  fence,  just  opposite  Beresford 
Hope's  house,  bears  this  simple  inscription  :  "  Here  stood 
Tyburn  Gate  in  1829." 

I  suppose  there  is  no  means  of  knowing  the  number  of 
people  who  gave  up  their  lives  on  this  spot,  both  for  political 
and  society  offences.  Seventy-five  years  ago  there  were 
months  when  twenty  and  thirty  executions  came  off,  and  it 
was  not  until  the  commencement  of  the  present  century  that 
capital  punishment  was  restricted  to  the  greater  crimes.  As 
late  as  fifty  odd  years  ago,  the  laws  of  England  punished  the 
theft  of  five  shillings  with  death.  In  copies  of  "  The  Gentle- 
man's Magazine  "  published  in  1776  are  the  accounts  of  the 
execution  of  young  and  old  for  the  most  trifling  misdemean- 
ors. Blacking  the  face  when  stealing  at  night,  or  even 
defacing  Westminster  Bridge,  was  punished  by  hanging.  If 
ever  a  tree  bore  evil  fruit,  it  was  this  gallows-tree  at  Tybuni. 
But  who  would  think  it?  Omnibuses,  drays,  and  carriages 
roll  over  the  pavement,  and  children  play  and  romp  and 
shout  on  the  greensward,  where  so  many  thousands  met 
violent  and  disgraceful  deaths  with  hearts  petrified  with 
despair. 

In  back  of  Oxford  Street  to-day  are  blocks  upon  blocks  of 
quality  residences,  owned  by  certain  dukes  and  earls,  and 
rented  on  a  hundred-years'  lease  to  aristocratic  tenants  at  a 
price  that  makes  the  English  stare  by  its  magnitude,  and 
makes  us  Americans  laugh  by  its  insignificance.  It  is  a  little 
singular,  that,  in  this  circumscribed  and  crowded  territory, 
property  and  rents  should  be  less  than  in  broad  and  roomy 
America.  But  it  is  so.  Up  at  St.  John's  Woods,  where  the 
west  end  of  the  city  looks  over  its  back-fences  into  waving 
fields  of  grain,  a  three-story  tenement  can  be  hired  for  two 
hundred  dollars  a  year.  Try  to  do  the  same  with  a  similar 
dwelling  similarly  located  in  New- York  City,  and  the  owner 
would  inveigle  you  up  on  the  roof,  and  throw  you  off;  and 
no  jury  could  be  found  to  blame  him. 


128  ENGLAND    FROM    A    DACK-WINDOW. 

I  may  have  stated  before  that  the  i)rincipal  part  of  the 
metropolis  is  owned  by  some  dozen  or  so  jjowerful  noble- 
men, who  rent  the  ground  for  a  land-rent,  for  a  small  sum, 
for  a  period  of  ninety-nine  years,  when  it  reverts  back  to 
them,  with  all  its  improvements.  In  proportion  to  tlie  terri- 
tory, there  is  really  but  a  small  amount  of  freehold  jjrojjerty 
in  England ;  and  property  becomes  somewhat  mixed  in 
consequence.  There  are  sections  where  it  is  rented  forever 
at  so  much  a  yard  or  rod  per  annum,  and  is  owned  by 
numerous  people.  A  piece  of  property  is  bought  in  this 
way  for  a  penny  a  yard.  Improvements  take  place  in  its 
neighborhood ;  and  its  value  so  increases,  that  the  holder  sells 
it  to  some  one  else  for  twopence  a  yard  ;  and  the  third  party 
soon  disposes  of  it  to  a  fourth  for  another  advance  ;  and  so  it 
goes,  if  valuation  permits,  until  it  gets  into  the  possession  of 
an  eighth  party.  He  pays  his  rent  to  the  seventh,  he  to  the 
sixth,  and  so  on,  till  it  returns  to  first  hands. 

This  way  of  purchasing  would  hardly  become  popular  in 
our  country,  and  I  am  glad  there  is  no  necessity  for  it.  But 
the  English  landlord  quite  frequently  shines  above  ours.  In 
this  section  of  London,  west  of  Oxford  Street,  are  several 
very  handsome  parks,  small  but  beautiful,  which  are  private 
property,  belongmg  to  the  noblemen  owning  the  property 
about  them,  and  w/iic/i  are  for  the  exclusive  use  of  their 
iena?its.  These  parks  are  from  an  acre  to  three  acres  in 
extent. 

The  English  must  have  grass  to  play  on,  and  trees  to  lie 
under,  anil  flowers  to  smell  of.  Mow  many  times,  in  going 
out  of  London  by  the  railways,  have  I  lookcil  down  into  the 
broken  windows  of  wretched  tenements,  and  found  a  little 
pot  of  i)lants  struggling  with  all  its  might  to  get  the  best  of 
its  surroundings  ! 

And,  not  content  with  its  great  sweep  of  park-lands  in  the 
city,  it  has  magnificent  retreats  and  gorgeous  temples  in  the 
suburbs,  principally  along  the  Thames.     Of  a  pleasant  Sun- 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINnOW.  1 2g 

day,  the  little  steamers  and  shore-trains  will  be  crowded  with 
visitors ;  while  those  routes  leading  to  Kensal-green  Ceme- 
tery, Hampton  Heath,  Crystal  Palace,  and  other  resorts,  are 
eciually  loaded  :  and  yet  the  enormous  city  parks  do  not 
look  as  if  a  single  soul  had  gone  out  of  the  city.  It  is 
mar\-ellous  where  all  these  people  are  stowed  during  the 
week. 

Speaking  of  the  Thames  reminds  me  that  it  is  about  time 
I  spoke  of  this  great  thoroughfare. 

I  used  to  believe  the  Thames  was  a  silvery  stream,  and  in 
later  years  came  to  look  upon  it  as  a  turbulent  stream 
crowded  with  shipping,  lined  with  docks,  with  numerous 
bridges  of  gloomy  arches,  from  which  unfortunate  people 
have  been  prompted  to  plunge,  and  bury  their  troubles 
beneath  its  tragic  surface.  By  the  time  I  had  got  within 
one  hundred  and  fifty  miles  of  England_,  I  began  to  wonder 
what  the  Thames  was  really  like. 

The  river  is  about  the  breadth  of  average  rivers.  I 
hardly  know  how  else  to  give  its  width.  Above  the  city, 
beyond  Hammersmith,  and  along  through  Windsor,  it  is  a 
pretty  stream  v/ith  delightful  shores  ;  but,  within  the  precincts 
of  London,  it  is  a  dirty  river  with  a  ferocious  tide.  The 
English,  with  their  well-known  love  for  the  beautiful  and 
substantial,  have  made  a  garden  of  the  west  shore,  from 
AVestminster  Bridge  to  below  the  Temple  by  the  Thames  and 
Victoria  Embankments.  These  embankments  are  broad 
roadways,  raised  some  ten  or  fifteen  feet  above  high  tide, 
and  faced  on  the  water-side  with  finely-cut  blocks  of  granite. 
Here  and  there  are  broad  flights  of  stairs  leading  down  to  the 
water,  where  are  neat  and  pretty  piers  for  the  river  steamers. 
The  roadways  are  very  broad  and  well  paved,  and  flanked 
with  broad  walks  of  immense  granite  blocks,  and  lines  of 
gas-lamps.  The  effect  in  the  night  from  one  of  the  neigh- 
boring bridges  is  beautiful.  Trees  also  have  been  added, 
and  in  time  will  add  a  grateful  shade  to  the  other  attractions 
of  the  beautiful  promenades. 


130  EXGLANO    FKOM    A    HACK-WINDOW. 

A  few  Steps  through  any  of  the  streets  leading  from  Fleet 
Street,  the  Strand,  or  \\hitechapel,  —  all  parallel  to  the 
river,  —  will  bring  the  pedestrian  into  a  beautiful  park,  bril- 
liant with  blossoming  flowers,  and  radiant  with  verdure, 
through  which  he  can  pass  to  the  embankment.  Fancy 
New  York  sacrificing  a  quarter  of  its  water-front  to  parks 
and  promenades  !  But  is  London  the  less  valuable  for  giv- 
ing the  humblest  of  its  citizens  an  opportunity  to  sniff 
flowers,  and  peg  stones  into  the  water?  P'ive  centuries  ago, 
to  have  completed  such  a  work  would  not  have  been  re- 
markable ;  but  in  this  nervous,  growing,  struggling  age,  to  see 
commerce  sacrificed  in  such  a  wholesale  way  to  pleasure  is 
something  remarkable,  and  encouraging. 

But  the  Thames  presents  some  wonderful  contrasts.  It 
has  an  extravagant  tide.  A\'hen  the  tide  is  full,  all  the  ves- 
sels ride  free,  and  the  scene  is  an  active  one  ;  but,  when  the 
tide  is  out,  you  can  stand  on  either  of  the  embankments,  and, 
looking  across  to  the  other  side,  see  a  broad  strip  of  mud- 
bottom  along  the  front  of  blackened  and  tumble-down  look- 
ing structures,  with  rickety  piers,  and  sombre-appearing 
vessels  standing  on  their  beam-ends,  —  the  most  desolate 
sight  you  ever  saw  on  a  ri\cr,  unless  it  is  a  coroner's  jury. 
And  flanking  the  embankments  are  the  same  mud  flats,  with 
their  covering  of  tipsy  vessels. 

From  above  Vauxhall  Bridge  to  the  Tower  of  London, 
covering  the  greater  part  of  the  city  river-front,  the  same 
dreary  line  of  mud-bottom,  rickety,  dingy  warehouses,  and 
skylarking  vessels,  may  be  seen  when  the  tide  is  out,  ex- 
cepting when  the  beautiful  embankments  break  the  line. 
There  are  no  docks  like  those  we  have  in  American  ports, 
with  drays,  barrels  of  tar,  profane  boatmen,  with  stores  in  the 
background  selling  oil-cloth  pants  and  coats,  fly-blown  cakes, 
tarred  rojie,  and  suspicious  bologna  sausages.  There  is  no 
place  on  the  face  of  the  earth  where  a  stranger  is  so  anxious 
and  ambitious  to  get  information,  and  where  he  stands  less 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    RACK-WINnOW.  I3I 

chance  of  getting  it,  tlian  on  a  dock.  But  there  are  no 
docks  fronting  these  warehouses  which  we  see  before  us. 
They  are  built  on  the  river-edge  ;  and,  when  the  tide  is  in, 
the  vessels  ride  against  the  buildings,  and  are  unloaded  into 
or  loaded  direct  from  them.  It  saves  the  employment  of  a 
great  many  men  who  hold  up  their  trousers  with  a  strap 
about  their  waists. 

The  river-craft  is  about  as  remarkable  as  any  of  its 
features.  Every  thing  is  painted  black.  The  steamboats 
which  ply  on  the  river,  from  London  Bridge  up  as  far  as  the 
city  reaches,  are  diminutive  vessels  devoted  to  carrying 
passengers  only.  They  are  constantly  darting  here  and 
there,  and  are  well  patronized.  On  Sundays  they  are 
crowded  ;  and  it  is  a  painful  wonder  that  the  proprietors 
have  not  sufficient  enterprise  to  protect  their  patrons  from 
the  glare  of  the  sun.  They  sit  low  in  the  water,  have  cheap 
fares,  and  are  built  to  stand  a  good  deal  of  bumping.  Their 
smoke-stacks  are  jointed,  to  permit  of  running  under  the  side- 
arches  of  the  bridges.  They  are  interesting  at  the  first  sight ; 
but,  as  you  see  no  other  patterns  but  these,  you  soon  get 
heartily  tired  of  them.  The  other  vessels  are  small,  awk- 
ward, cumbersome  scows,  with  a  single  sail,  and  a  huge 
pair  of  oars.  They  are  black  and  dirty,  lazy  in  their  move- 
ments, open  the  full  length,  and  look  as  if  they  had  been 
carting  ink  in  the  bulk  for  centuries.  When  the  sail  cannot 
be  used,  the  long  oars  are  applied.  The  scows  are  used  for 
bringing  freight  from  the  sailing  and  steam  vessels  down  the 
river,  below  London  Bridge,  to  the  warehouses  I  have  men- 
tioned. They  are  the  most  desponding-looking  objects  I 
ever  saw,  and  what  they  mostly  seem  to  need  is  a  thunder- 
ing kick  behind. 

London  Bridge  is  the  oldest  and  the  last  bridge  down  the 
river.  It  is  on  the  site  of  the  two  bridges  which  have  made 
its  name  a  part  of  history. 

For  miles  down  the  river  from  here  is  the  genuine  ship- 


132  ENGLAND    FROM    A    RACK-WINDOW. 

])ing  which  gives  Ixmdon  its  commercial  standing.  The 
presence  of  these  huge  sailing-vessels  and  black  iron  ocean- 
steamships  is  never  suspected  by  the  visitor  who  confines 
his  sight-seeing  to  the  city  and  that  portion  of  the  river  be- 
tween London  and  Vauxliall  Bridges  ;  but  there  they  are, 
hundreds,  yea,  thousands  of  them,  from  every  port  and  clime 
open  to  traffic  in  the  world. 

But  there  are  .no  steamboats  like  ours,  —  no  steamboats 
at  all  but  those  little  chaps  which  are  constantly  flitting  to 
and  fro.  An  American  steamboat,  with  its  ponderous  and 
attractive  exterior,  and  gorgeous  saloons  and  cabins,  would 
call  out  the  entire  city,  and  rouse  all  England,  Ireland,  Scot- 
land, and  Wales. 

The  English  often  speak  of  them  and  our  ferry-boats,  but 
with  bated  breath. 

You  would  hardly  believe,  that,  for  the  miles  of  city  below 
London  Bridge,  there  is  no  other  means  of  crossing  the 
river  except  by  little  insignificant  row-boats.  These  English 
can  hardly  comprehend  the  New- York  ferry-boats,  and  can- 
not understand  why  the  waters  about  that  city  are  not 
bridged,  and  row-boats  used.  When  I  have  told  them  that 
there  are  scores  and  scores  of  steam  ferry-boats  plying  be- 
tween New  York  and  opposite  cities  all  the  while,  —  each 
vessel  large  enough  to  swallow  five  of  their  river  steamboats, 
and  pick  its  teeth  with  a  sixth,  —  they  have  gone  away  mis- 
erable and  wTCtched. 

There  are  a  great  many  things  these  English  do  not 
understand ;  but  I  think  I  notice  an  improvement  since  my 
arrival. 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  1 33 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


THROUGH   PETTICOAT   LANE. 


IT  is  a  little  singular  that  one  of  the  most  reprehensible 
of  London's  avenues  should  be  its  straightest  and  its 
broadest.  Whitechapel  is  a  remarkable  street.  It  runs  par- 
allel to  the  Thames,  in  the  eastern  part  of  London,  and  is 
supposed  to  be  the  Broadway  of  vice  and  poverty.  I  think 
I  am  safe  in  placing  its  width  at  one  hundred  and  twenty 
feet,  while  its  roadway  is  scarcely  forty  feet ;  leaving  a  walk 
on  each  side  of  equal  width.  But  merely  half  of  these 
spaces  of  forty  feet  each  are  devoted  to  pedestrianism,  the 
rest  being  used  by  the  occupiers  of  the  shops  opposite  for 
the  display  of  their  wares.  I  walked  through  Whitechapel 
nearly  an  hour,  watching  the  people,  and  peering  into  the 
shops ;  and  the  absence  of  well-dressed  or  hurrying  people 
finally  grew  monotonous.  It  seemed  as  if  I  had  been  trans- 
planted into  another  country,  and  among  a  peculiar  people. 

I  didn't  see  the  mark  of  Cain  on  their  brows ;  but  the 
stamp  of  Lazarus  was  quite  apparent  on  their  attire.  The 
shops  were  mostly  for  the  vending  of  second-hand  furni- 
ture and  clothing,  and  were  attended  by  those  people  who 
never  can  get  their  luggage  passed  through  a  custom-house 
imtil  after  it  has  been  thoroughly  searched." 

There  were  an  abundance  of  men  with  pants  tight  in  the 
leg,  short-tailed  coats,  round-crown  hats,  and  cravats  of 
spotted  goods.     The  lower  classes  of  England  are  devotedly 


134  ENGLAND    FROM    A    RACK-WINDOW. 

attached  to  spotted  neckerchiefs,  principally  of  the  blue 
ground ;  and  generally  tie  them  about  liie  neck  without 
regard  to  the  position  of  the  collar,  even  if  they  are  so  par- 
ticular as  to  have  a  collar  on  at  all. 

Not  far  above  Bishopsgate  commences  a  street  well  known 
to  the  London  police,  whose  name  is  familiar  to  thousands 
who  never  saw  London.  Generations  upon  generations  of 
thieves  and  vagabonds  it  has  bred  and  graduated,  and  bids 
fair  to  send  forth  many  more  generations  of  the  same  sort. 

Such  a  reproach  had  it^  name  become,  that  a  few  years 
ago  it  was  removed,  and  a  new  one  substituted.  It  is  now 
in  the  directory,  and  on  the  maps,  as  Middlesex  Street ;  but 
all  the  whitewashing  in  the  world  will  not  blot  out  its  old 
title,  —  Petticoat  Lane. 

Whitechapel  is  but  one  of  the  boundaries  of  a  section 
of  which  Petticoat  Lane  is  the  heart.  It  is  but  a  lane, 
crooked  enough  and  slimy  enough  to  be  a  snake.  Its 
entrance  from  Whitechapel  is  appropriately  flanked  by  two 
low  rum-shops,  from  whose  several  doors  escapes  a  convivial 
steam  that  is  not  in  the  least  inviting. 

I  was  particularly  warned  by  friends,  newspaper-articles, 
and  guide-books,  not  to  venture  within  its  precincts,  unless 
under  the  guardianship  of  a  policeman.  With  a  feeling  of 
almost  hysterical  exultation,  Englishmen  had  dwelt  upon  the 
striking  cuteness  of  English  pickpockets  ;  and  Petticoat  Lane 
became  especially  known  to  me  as  the  place  where  the 
stranger  lost  his  pocket-handkerchief  at  one  end,  antl  found 
it  hanging  up  for  sale  at  the  other.  I  tliouijht  I  sliouUl  like 
to  see  my  handkerchief  thus  exiK)sed  for  sale,  and  intensely 
wondered  who  would  buy  it.     I  ditln't  think  I  could  afford  to. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  I  got  into  Petticoat 
Lane  ;  and  for  full  three  hours  I  kei)t  up  a  ceaseless  tramp 
along  it,  and  through  the  narrow  and  noisome  alleys  and 
courts  leading  out  of  it. 

'I'here  were  second-hand  shops  in  abundance,  meat-stalls 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    RACK-WINDOW.  1 35 

and  groceries  in  every  direction.  The  lane  itself  had  about 
eight  feet  of  roadway,  and  from  a  foot  to  two  feet  of  sidewalk. 

There  were  bloated  women,  and  one-eyed  men,  and  de- 
formed children,  and  repulsi\'e  dwarfs,  among  the  dirty  horde 
who  lounged  on  the  walks,  or  loitered  in  the  street.  A  strik- 
ing peculiarity  of  the  tenements  was  their  size,  but  few  of 
them  exceeding  two  stories  in  height.  There  were  no  half- 
dozen  flights  of  crazy  stairs  to  climb  up  or  fall  down ;  no 
fourth,  fifth,  or  sixth  story  window  to  topple  out  of,  and  injure 
the  pavement. 

The  houses  were  of  brick,  defaced  by  age  and  dirt ;  and 
the  first  floors  to  all  of  them  were  either  on  a  level  with  the 
street,  or  a  foot  or  so  below  it.  There  were  an  abundance 
of  courts  and  alleys  adjoining,  and  in  them  the  pedestrian 
found  much  difficulty  in  making  his  way.  Some  of  the 
alleys  were  so  narrow,  that  four  people  could  not  walk  through 
them  abreast ;  and,  when  their  smallness  was  considered,  it 
was  really  wonderful  the  amount  of  stench  they  contained. 

I  found  boys  and  girls  here  in  the  full  enjoyment  of  happi- 
ness, and  acting  dreadfully  natural.  It  brought  the  tears  to 
my  eyes  to  see  seventy-five  of  them  helping  to  raise  a  kite,  to 
the  unbounded  exasperation  of  the  boy  who  had  hold  of  the 
string :  and,  when  a  half-dozen  of  them  came  rushing  by  me 
with  a  dead  cat  attached  to  a  cord,  I  felt  too  full  to  breathe ; 
and  I  took  good  care  not  to  breathe  until  they  got  by. 

Petticoat  Lane  is  the  home  of  the  costermongers  whom  we 
meet  in  the  more  respectable  thoroughfares  at  all  hours  of 
the  day  or  night. 

The  London  costermongers  are  an  institution  by  and  in 
themselves  :  they  are  generally  healthy-looking  men.  Their 
stock  of  goods  is  displayed  upon  an  oblong  platfonn  mount- 
ed on  a  pair  of  wheels :  this  they  shove  before  them  con- 
formable to  the  shifting  of  the  channel  of  trade.  They  remain 
in  one  spot,  or  move  about,  as  is  required.  Sometimes  they 
are  on  the  move  for  hours  without  a  pause,  except  to  attend 


136  ENGLAND    FROM    A    RACK-WINDOW. 

to  a  customer.  They  do  not  cry  out  their  wares ;  they  do 
not  come  upon  the  sidewalk.  They  are  to  be  found  in 
the  narrow  and  crowded  thoroughfares,  as  well  as  in  the  more 
retired  portions  of  the  city.  They  fight  for  right  of  way 
with  the  powerful  omnibuses  and  leviathan  drays ;  but  I 
never  heard  of  one  of  them  being  run  over :  and,  in  turn, 
they  never  run  over  the  drays  and  omnibuses.  They  sell 
every  thing,  but  principally  fruit  and  shell-fish.  They 
nearly  monopolize  both  of  these  markets.  This  is  a  good 
fruit-year,  I  should  judge ;  and  that  which  is  sold  is  similar 
in  kind  to  ours,  being  cherries,  pears,  plums,  grapes,  apricots, 
strawberries,  and  red  raspberries.  I  believe  they  have  no 
blackberries  here  ;  but  the  English  eat  strawberries  just  as  we 
eat  cherries,  and,  between  the  acts  in  a  play,  run  out  to  the 
first  costermonger,  and  buy  a  paper  of  them.  At  the  hotels 
and  dining-houses  strawberries  are  served  with  the  stems, 
and  the  guest  hulls  them  himself;  or  can  eat  them  without 
hulling,  if  he  choose. 

But  the  costermonger  who  to-day  sells  fruit  may  to-morrow 
sell  something  else.  He  watches  the  market  and  popular 
taste,  and  rarely  has  the  same  article  on  sale  several  days 
in  succession.  To-day  he  is  selling  fruit ;  to-morrow,  oysters 
and  snails  ;  the  day  after,  fresh  fish ;  and  the  fourth  day, 
neckties.     It  is  dreadful  to  think  of.     Let  us  pass  on. 

Green  apples  are  a  staple  article  here  ;  and  the  little  Lon- 
don boys,  who  have  no  apple-trees  to  climb,  snap  up  this  fruit 
with  greedy  haste.  The  other  day  I  passed  one  of  these 
green-apple  stands.  An  English  and  an  American  friend 
were  with  me.  The  Englishman,  pointing  to  the  stock,  said, 
"  We  use  those  for  tarts  :  what  do  you  make  of  them?  " 

"  Cholera- morbus,"  promptly  replied  the  American. 

"Ah  !  cholera-morbus,  eh  ? — that's  odd,"  said  the  I'nglish- 
man. 

The  costermongers  who  took  up  nearly  all  the  available 
space  in  Petticoat  Lane  to-day  were  selling  fresh  fish  and 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  1 37 

shell-fish.  The  denizens  of  the  neighborhood  had  undoubt- 
edly cloyed  themselves  with  fruit  and  neckties,  and  were 
now  revelling  in  snails  and  soles. 

Snails  are  a  favorite  dish  with  the  English.  I  have  never 
thought  there  was  any  thing  particular  to  admire  about  a 
snail,  unless  it  is  speed ;  but  the  English  utilize  them  in  a 
happy  way,  and  have  been  the  means  of  introducing  this 
sombre  animal  into  a  circle  of  gayety  and  dissipation  that 
must  be  a  decided  innovation  upon  its  past  life.  The  snail 
occupies  here  the  position  held  by  the  oyster  in  America. 
Being  of  a  humbler  nature,  it  is  content  to  sell  itself  two 
for  a  cent ;  while  the  more  aristocratic  oyster  holds  itself  at 
'  from  five  to  eight  cents  a  head.  The  enjoyment  of  eating 
oysters  at  that  price  has  it  drawbacks,  and  so  these  people 
eat  snails.  A  novice  at  opening  oysters  rarely  hankers  after 
the  practice ;  but,  at  first  sight,  he  would  prefer,  I  think,  to 
open  an  oyster,  rather  than  to  open  a  snail.  But  the  snail 
is  much  the  easier  to  conquer.  The  aspirant  for  its  flesh 
adroitly  introduces  a  pin  into  the  front-door  of  the  animal's 
habitation,  and  it  immediately  comes  out  to  see  what  is  up. 
It  is  a  fatal  move  for  the  snail,  unless  it  should  happen  to 
have  a  very  bad  breath. 

As  the  English  costermonger  substitutes  snails  for  our 
oysters,  so  also  does  he  vend  soles,  and  not  shad.  Salmon 
and  soles  are  the  favorite  fish  here ;  but  soles,  for  delicacy 
and  flavor,  transcend  salmon.  It  is  remarkable  how  fond  the 
English  are  of  soles. 

The  several  Englishmen  returning  home  on  the  vessel 
which  brought  me  here  frequently  conversed  with  me  of  the 
glory  in  store  for  me  when  I  put  my  foot  on  English  soil, 
and  was  permitted  by  a  kind  and  indulgent  Providence  to 
call  for  a  fried  sole.  I  heard  so  much  of  the  surpassing 
delicacy  and  flavor  of  the  dish,  that  I  began  to  fear  I  should 
catch  some  new  kind  of  disease,  and  die,  before  I  reached 
land;   but  when  these  people   got  to  following  me  to  my 


138  ENGLAND    FROM    A    HACK-WINDOW. 

Stateroom  at  night  when  I  retired,  and  hallooing  through 
the  keyhole  their  praises  and  anticipations  of  fried  sole,  the 
prospect  of  never  seeing  the  shore  again  was  less  frightful 
than  would  seem  possible. 

Fried  sole  is  not  a  bail  disli,  after  ail ;  but  any  one  who 
had  been  all  his  life  nourished  on  currycombs  would  hardly 
find  variety  enough  in  fried  sole. 

It  is  the  favorite  dish  at  the  restaurants,  and  has  delicacy 
enough,  for  that  matter ;  but  it  is  simply  a  paper  of  pins 
tliinly  disguised  :  and  when  you  hear  a  waiter  with  a  sore 
throat  scream  down  the  recesses  of  an  elevator,  "  One  fried 
sole,  quick  ! "  the  start  you  receive  tends  to  prejudice  you 
against  the  fish. 

From  this  neighborhood  radiate  the  match-peddlers  and 
flower-girls,  who  meet  you  at  the  door  of  the  theatre,  every 
corner  of  the  street,  at  the  entrance  to  your  cab,  and  leave 
you  only  as  you  disappear  in  your  hotel. 

The  wonderful  number  of  men,  boys,  women,  and  girls,  en- 
gaged about  the  streets,  especially  after  dark,  selling  matches, 
surprises  a  foreigner,  until  he  comes  to  notice  that  the  Eng- 
lish smoker  almost  invariably  uses  a  match  to  light  his  weed, 
and  is  not  yet  educated  up  to  borrowing  from  the  end  of 
his  neighbor's  cigar. 

The  matches  thus  vended  are  fusees,  adapted  to  burning 
in  rain  or  wind.  There  are  no  skunks  in  this  country  ;  but, 
after  you  have  got  a  good  square  pull  at  a  burning  fusee, 
you  don't  miss  the  skunk. 

The  flower-girls  are  equally  numerous  with  the  match- 
peddlers  ;  but  they  are  rarely  seen  until  after  dark.  From 
nine  o'clock  until  long  after  midnight  they  are  on  the  street, 
soliciting  all  apparently  well-to-do  people  to  make  a  pur- 
chase. They  are  of  all  ages,  and  a  flower-girl  of  fifty-five 
summers  is  a  common  object.  Many  of  them  are  mothers, 
an<l  carry  about  with  them  quiet  and  subdued  infants.  I 
ha\e  met  such  as  those  as  late  as  two  o'clock  in  the  morn- 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW,  1 39 

ing,  praying  for  the  love  of  God  that  I  would  buy  one  of 
their  penny  bouquets.  The  Londoners  do  not  patronize 
them,  but,  on  the  contrary,  feelingly  invite  them  to  "  cut 
their  stick."  They  are  among  the  lowest  of  Petticoat-lane's 
population,  and  very  generally  take  their  earnings  for  the 
foundation  of  a  magnificent  debauch.  Many  of  them  are 
the ,.  unfortunate  recipients  of  blanks  in  the  lottery  of  matri- 
mony, and  are  working  out  their  destiny  with  a  travail  of 
soul  that  I  cannot  describe,  and,  if  I  could,  would  not  be 
understood.     But,  innocent  or  vicious,  Heaven  help  them  ! 

But  it  is  of  a  Sunday  that  Petticoat  Lane  shines  forth  in 
its  happiest  light.  At  the  hour  of  noon  on  that  day  it  is  the 
busiest.  All  the  shops  are  the  busiest.  The  costermongers 
fill  the  roadways  ;  and  those  who  feel  that  they  have  received 
a  call  to  go  into  business,  unaccompanied  by  sufficient  cash 
to  rent  a  store  or  buy  a  cart,  plank  down  their  stock  on  the 
narrow  strip  of  pavement  which  forms  the  sidewalk,  and  sing 
out  the  attractions  and  advantages  of  their  goods  at  a  lively 
rate.  The  people  in  their  holiday  attire,  consisting  princi- 
pally of  a  breastpin,  flock  about  and  among  the  venders, 
bickering  about  the  prices,  chaffing  each  other,  and  getting 
in  everybody's  way.  I  don't  understand,  really,  why  this 
neighborhood,  so  abounding  in  elements  of  vice  and  con- 
tention, is  yet  so  free  from  disturbances.  In  my  three  hours 
among  its  lanes  and  courts  I  saw  neither  a  row  nor  a  police- 
man. Of  course,  at  home,  I  should  not  expect  to  see  both 
of  them  at  once.  Perhaps  it  is  because  the  police  here  are 
so  efficient,  that  their  simple  reputation  is  enough,  without 
their  presence,  to  keep  down  the  turbulent  mass. 

And  the  simple  secret  of  their  success  is,  that  they  have 
the  full  respect  and  sympathy  of  all  respectable  people,  and, 
thus  backed  up,  are  almost  omnipotent  in  maintaining  order. 

It  is  the  custom  of  our  people,  on  returning  from  Eng- 
land, to  take,  as  a  memento  and  object  of  interest,  some- 
thing characteristic  of  the  country. 

I  think  I  shall  bring  home  a  whole  policeman. 


140  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 


CHAPTER   XVIL 

THE  WONDERFUL   ENGLISH  RAILWAYS. 

IT  is  a  long  time  before  an  American  becomes  tired  of 
looking  at  an  English  railway-car :  then  he  becomes 
very  tired  of  it.  They  call  them  carriages  here  ;  and  a  very 
proper  name  it  is,  as  they  are  coach-bodied.  In  size  they 
are  one-third  shorter  and  one-third  narrower  than  the  Ameri- 
can car,  and  of  rather  plain  exterior. 

It  is  a  well-known  fact  that  they  are  divided  into  class 
compartments.  Each  car  has  three  or  four  of  these  com- 
partments, and  all  the  classes  :  so  the  third-class  man  makes 
just  the  same  speed  as  does  his  loftier  neighbor  who  rides 
first-class,  and  is  separated  from  him  by  merely  an  inch-board 
partition. 

The  compartments  run  across  the  carriage,  with  entrances 
at  the  sides  of  the  carriage,  or  end  of  the  compartment. 
There  is  a  seat  on  each  side,  made  to  hold  five  persons. 
^Vhen  ten  people  have  got  into  a  compartment,  they  just  fill 
its  seating-capacity,  and  no  one  is  allowed  to  enter  it.  There 
is  a  window  each  side  of  the  door,  and  a  glass  slide  in  the 
door.  The  lamp  is  in  the  ceiling,  and  is  supplied  and  lighted 
from  the  roof.  Consecjuently,  there  is  no  brakeman  strad- 
dling the  seats  before  you  in  a  pair  of  alarmingly  frail  pants. 

When  you  are  seated,  your  knees  and  the  knees  of  the 
l)arty  opposite  can  shake  hands  without  rising.  The  uphol- 
stering of  the  cOinpartment  makes  the  class.     A  first-class 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  I4I 

compartment  is  cushioned  with  bhie-black  cloth,  and  the  sit- 
tings are  divided  by  arm-rests.  The  cushions  in  the  second- 
class  are  of  leather,  and  there  are  no  arm-rests.  The  cush- 
ioning of  the  third-class  compartment  is  performed  by 
nature. 

In  riding  from  Derby,  the  central  point  in  England,  to 
London,  a  distance  of  one  hundred  and  thirty  miles,  you  pay 
six  dollars  and  a  half  to  sit  on  a  blue-black  cloth  cushion, 
four  dollars  and  a  half  to  sit  on  a  leather  cushion,  and  two 
dollars  and  seventy-five  cents  to  sit  on  a  board. 

The-  mode  of  heating  the  compartments  is  by  flat  cans  of 
hot  water.  These  cans  are  about  thirty  inches  long,  ten  in 
breadth,  and  three  in  thickness.  There  are  two  to  each 
compartment ;  and,  while  they  do  not  appear  to  affect  the 
temperature,  they  are  comfortable  to  the  feet.  Sometimes 
your  companions  are  hoggish  in  disposition,  and  monopolize 
all  the  can.  At  other  times,  especially  in  the  second-class 
compartments,  the  porters  omit  to  put  in  the  cans  at  all. 
The  third-class  passengers  ride  without  them.  The  English 
thermometer  does  not  indulge  in  the  excesses  the  American 
thermometer  does ;  but  the  cold  of  England  has  dampness 
with  it,  which  causes  it  to  penetrate  to  the  innermost  recesses 
of  the  human  form  divine.  The  Europeans  carrj'  lap-robes 
on  their  travels  in  the  cold  season,  and  thus  manage  to  keep 
a  trifle  comfortable.- 

The  result  of  this  style  of  car  is,  that  you  are  obliged  to 
take  your  seat  before  the  car  starts,  which  is  not  always 
pleasant  or  convenient,  and  to  remain  just  there,  however 
offensive  your  companions  may  be,  until  the  train  reaches 
the  next  station.  This  confinement  to  one  small  space 
makes  travelling  more  wearisome  than  it  is  in  our  country. 

But  you  never  have  to  give  up  your  seat  to  a  lady ;  for,  if 
there  is  no  vacant  sitting,  she  is  not  permitted  to  enter :  and 
there  is  no  boy  with  a  steam-whistle  voice  knocking  into 
fragments  your  discourse  with  the  man  across  the  aisle,  and 


142  ENGLAND    FROM    A    DACK-WINDOW. 

poking  you  back  of  the  car  with  a  box  of  books,  or  filling 
your  lap  with  opprobrious  candy. 

And  it  may  be  well  to  mention  also,  in  this  connection, 
that  there  is  no  boy  to  come  along  with  a  glass  of  ice-water 
when  you  are  sweltering  with  heat  and  smothering  with  dust. 
I  came  near  to  forgetting  that. 

There  is  the  advantage  of  a  good  loaf  and  smoke,  if  you 
happen  to  be  alone  in  the  compartment ;  which  quite  fre- 
quently happens  by  accident,  if  you  have  taken  the  precau- 
tion to  "  see  "  the  conductor. 

The  first-class  compartments  are  not  so  largely  patronized 
as  Americans  imagine,  or  as  they  would  be  were  they  in 
vogue  in  America,  where  "  appearance "  is  almost  every 
thing.  They  have  a  saying  here,  that  "  none  but  princes, 
Americans,  and  fools  ride  first-class."  I  don't  know  any 
thing  about  princes  and  fools  ;  but  I  can  see  a  delicate  appre- 
ciation of  the  American  character  in  the  pro\erb,  that  appears 
almost  supernatural. 

Tradesmen,  the  better  class  of  farmers,  tourists,  reduced 
gentlemen,  and  wealthy  people  fond  of  economy,  patronize 
the  second-class ;  while  the  third-class  is  a  mixture  of  good, 
bad,  and  indifferent.  Many  who  patronize  first-class  in 
winter  prefer  the  cool  boards  of  the  third-class  in  mid-sum- 
mer in  preference  to  the  dusty  cushions  and  sweaty  leather 
of  the  other  class.  But  I  have  known  a  piece  of  board  to 
communicate  a  great  deal  of  warmth  in  the  summer-time, 
when  I  was  a  boy. 

The  carriages  are  not  especially  attractive  in  coloring  ;  but 
they  are  clean  inside,  as  the  English  do  not  chew  tobacco. 
They  are  very  fond  of  the  pipe,  though ;  and  each  class  has 
one  or  more  smoking-apartments,  according  to  the  length 
of  the  train.  But  you  get  in  and  out  of  them  at  the  stations, 
as  there  is  no  other  communication  with  the  rest  of  the  train. 
This  reminds  me  that  some  of  the  third-class  carriages  are 
open  the  whole  length,  the  partitions  coming  only  to   the 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW,  I43 

shoulder  of  the  sitter.  One  of  the  compartments  is  devoted 
to  smoking  ;  and  the  officials  are  particular  to  have  the  lovers 
of  the  weed  get  in  there,  although  the  smoke  sails  all  over 
the  car. 

The  luggage  system  is  abominable,  to  speak  mildly.  No 
checks  are  used.  The  baggage  is  simply  labelled  to  its  des- 
tination, and  the  passenger  is  expected  to  look  after  it  him- 
self When  he  changes  roads,  or  arrives  at  his  place,  he 
must  hurry  to  the  luggage-van  and  pick  out  his  property. 
To  a  man  with  eight  trunks  there  is  nothing  particularly 
attractive  in  the  scenery  he  passes  through. 

And  quite  frequently  the  traveller  has  some  difficulty  in 
selecting  his  trunk,  unless  it  is  small  and  shabby ;  in  which 
case  he  can  take  the  first  fat  one  that  comes  to  light,  put  it 
on  a  cab,  and  make  off. 

Every  precaution  is  taken  here  to  guard  against  accident. 
The  road-beds  are  in  excellent  condition,  a  perfect  code  of 
signals  is  in  operation  on  every  line,  and  active  employees 
both  guide  and  guard  the  traveller.  Crossing  the  line  is 
allowed  only  under  the  direction  of  an  employee. 

When  a  train  draws  up  at  a  station  it  comes  alongside 
of  a  platform,  and  the  passengers  must  get  out  on  that  side. 

Porters  are  in  attendance  to  call  the  name  of  the  station, 
and  direct  those  who  are  to  embark  to  their  carriages  :  the 
doors  are  closed,  but  not  often  locked,  and  the  train  moves 
away.  There  is  no  dashing  out  of  the  de'pot-door  with  a 
mouthful  of  cake,  and  a  bound  into  the  car,  by  the  dilatory 
passenger.  The  d.  p.  sees  the  train  move  away  without  him  ; 
and  no  profanity  of  his,  however  sincere,  will  bring  it  back. 

The  car-doors  are  not  so  frequently  locked  as  was  the 
custom  a  short  time  ago.  And  a  very  good  rule  it  was  with 
this  style  of  car,  as  the  door  swings  over  the  station  platform  ; 
and,  in  the  case  of  an  express-train,  a  suddenly-opened  door 
as  it  drove  through  the  station  might  seriously  inconvenience 
any  meditative  person  standing  in  the  way. 


144  ENGLAND    FROM    A    RACK-WINDOW. 

The  railways  are  not  rulers  in  England.  It  is  a  vast  busi- 
ness, and  their  lines  cover  the  country  like  a  web  ;  but  their 
projectors  and  builders  were  not  permitted  to  drive  them 
where  they  pleased. 

This  at:counts,  in  part,  for  the  great  number  of  tunnels 
piercing  the  hills.  Where  the  owner  of  an  estate  did  not 
want  his  property  marred  by  a  gaping  cut,  the  company 
were  obliged  to  go  lower  down,  and  burrow  under.  Another 
cause  of  the  numerous  tunnels  is  the  great  desire  of  the 
English  to  go  straight.  There  are  numerous  instances  where 
roads  might  have  gone  two  or  three  miles  arpund  a  hill,  and 
taken  in  another  village  ;  but  they  went  through  the  hill  in- 
stead, and  saved  the  .distance,  at  an  enormous  expense. 

They  apparently  took  the  the  item  of  distance  rather  than 
money  into  consideilition,  on  the  start ;  and  the  result  shows 
the  wisdom  of  the  choice. 

The  North-western  Road  has  a  viaduct  which  cost  it  five 
million  dollars  to  build.  It  saved  fifteen  miles  by  that  opera- 
tion, and  has  got  the  money  back  long  before  this. 

The  rail  is  not  allowed  to  cross  the  turnpike  at  a  grade 
where  it  can  possibly  be  helped.  The  exceptions  are  at 
stations  in  flat  lands  ;  and  there  a  gate  is  kept  by  the  station- 
agent  ;  and,  when  a  train  is  nearly  due,  the  turnpike  is  shut 
off,  and  not  opened  until  after  the  train  has  passed.  In  the 
large  cities  the  road  runs  either  abo\e  the  houses,  or  under 
them. 

\\'hen  we  consider  how  conservative,  old  fogyish,  and  slow 
the  English  are  reputed  to  be,  we  are  jjuzzled  to  understantl 
why  the  speed  of  their  trains  is  half  again  greater  than  the 
trains  of  the  nervous  and  impatient  Americans.  Antl,  as 
great  as  the  speed  already  is,  these  l*>nglishmen  are  not  satis- 
fied.    They  are  looking  about  for  means  to  increase  it. 

The  lowest  speed  of  the  English  express-train  is  forty 
miles  an  hour,  the  highest  sixty  miles. 

It  is  ])Ositive  wickedness  for  a  man  to  fool  around  in  front 
of  one  of  those  trains  in  his  best  suit  of  (lollies. 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    EACK-WINDOW.  I45 

Every  road  is  obliged  to  run  daily  a  parliamentary  or  peo- 
ple's train,  at  one  penny  a  mile. 

The  stations  (they  do  not  call  them  de'pots)  are  marvels 
of  compactness,  convenience,  and  attractiveness.  They  are 
built  of  either  brick  or  stone,  are  commodious,  and  ha\e  an 
abundance  of  platform-room  ;■  and  the  platforms  are  faced 
up  with  ponderous  stone,  and  surfaced  with  either  concrete 
or  flags.  There  are  no  uneven  planks  to  catch  your  toes,  or 
scale  off  and  thrust  slivers  into  your  broken  soles.  At  all 
the  stations  there  are  settees  outside  for  the  accommodation 
of  those  who  prefer  to  wait  there.  Some  people  are  con- 
vinced that  a  train  will  come  sooner  if  they  are  outside 
looking  for  it ;  and  this  conviction  is  never  weakened  on 
discovering  that  they  have  been  looking  in  the  wrong 
direction. 

However  unimportant  the  station,  the  buildings  are  com- 
plete. I  don't  know  what  an  Englishman  must  think  when 
he  sees  in  America  such  a  depot  as  that  which  has  for  years 
disgraced  the  Hudson-river  Railroad  at  Yonkers,  or  that 
which  yet  disgraces  the  Erie  Road  at  Niagara  Falls ;  and 
I  am  glad  that  I  don't. 

The  stations  in  London  are  monsters  of  brick,  iron,  and 
glass,  built  similarly  to  the  Union  De'pot  in  New- York  City. 
That  of  the  Midland  Road  at  St.  Pancras,  London,  is  the 
largest  station  in  the  world.  The  fronts  of  the  main  stations 
throughout  England  are  used  for  hotel-purposes ;  and  at 
these  stations  are  lavatories,  where,  for  a  penny  or  two  pen- 
nies, the  traveller  can  have  a  good  wash,  his  clothes  brushed, 
and  his  hair  combed.  There  is  no  need  of  dilating  on  the 
value  of  this  accommodation. 

Although  the  rails  pierce  to  all  parts  of  England,  yet  they 
are  principally  under  the  control  of  five  companies,  —  the 
Great  Eastern,  North-western,  Midland,  Great  Western,  and 
Great  Southern.  The  journey  from  Liverpool  to  London 
by  the   North-western  Railway  gives  the   traveller  a   most 


146  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

comprehensive  idea  of  the  loveliness  of  English  scenery. 
He  will  then  be  first  amazed  by  seeing  well-trimmed  hedges 
of  hawthorn  along  the  line  instead  of  broken-down  fences, 
and  finely-turfed  banks  instead  of  sliding  gravel  and  run- 
ning clay. 

Each  station  has  an  agent  and  one  or  more  porters.  The 
least  important  way-stations  have  two  persons  in  charge  ;  and 
some  way-stations  have  a  ticket-collector  with  the  agent, 
and  three  to  five  porters.  A  station  in  America  would  be 
under  the  control  of  one  who  would,  in  addition,  take  care 
of  the  post-ofifice,  run  the  telegraph,  and  do  a  good  business 
in  a  mixed  line  of  goods.  At  a  place  like  Leicester,  Cam- 
bridge, or  Manchester,  the  porters  are  almost  without  number. 
They  are  noticed  by  their  uniforms,  which  consist  of  a  stiff 
flat  cap,  black  vests  with  alpaca  sleeves,  corduroy  pants,  and 
heavy  shoes.  I  have  often  wondered  how  a  railway  porter 
would  appear  with  a  coat  on. 

When  you  have  purchased  your  ticket,  and  seen  to  your 
luggage,  you  either  select  a  car  for  yourself,  or  have  the 
porter  do  it  for  you.  Just  before  the  train  starts  you  will 
be  asked  your  destination,  with  a  view  to  learning  if  you  are 
in  the  right  carriage.  At  different  i)oints  on  the  way  you 
will  meet  with  the  same  interrogation  from  the  porters  of 
the  stations.  If  you  are  to  change  carriages,  you  will  find 
a  porter  to  meet  you  at  your  door,  who  will  take  your  hand- 
luggage  in  charge,  and  pilot  you  to  a  compartment  in  the 
right  train.  If  you  have  a  mind  to  give  him  a  sixpence  for 
the  service,  it  is  safe  to  try  it,  I  believe.  Of  course  he  is 
paid  by  the  company  for  this  work  ;  but  the  pay  is  light,  and 
these  sixpenny  contingencies  are  inducements  to  accei^l;  the 
place. 

A  man  got  in  a  compartment  with  me  the  other  day 
who  wore  spectacles,  and  carried  a  book  under  his  arm,  that 
gave  him  the  air  of  being  a  canvasser  of  some  sort.  He 
had  seven  parcels,  some  quite  bulky,  which  the  industrious 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  I47 

porter  brought  and  packed  away  under  the  seat  for  him. 
Then  the  man  in  spectacles  said  "Thank  you,"  and  fell  to 
humming  "  God  save  the  Queen,"  for  the  edification  of  the 
porter,  without  doubt,  who  did  not  appear  to  have  a  highly- 
cultivated  ear. 

Just  outside  the  stations  of  importance  the  train  draws  up, 
and  a  man  in  blue  uniform  comes  along  and  takes  up  the 
tickets  of  those  who  have  made  their  journey.  At  the  other 
stations  the  train  runs  in  without  this  halt ;  and  the  agent  or 
ticket-collector  takes  your  ticket  as  you  step  out  of  the  com- 
partment, or  in  your  egress  from  the  depot. 

The  English  are  a  travelling  people  ;  but,  with  the  crowds 
always  coming  and  going,  there  is  complete  order.  The 
number  of  porters  and  police  are  sure  to  secure  that,  how- 
ever great  the  throng  of  passengers.  And  these  men  are 
always  in  sight,  always  within  reach.  They  are  not  arranged 
in  line  in  front  of  a  neighboring  bar,  or  behind  a  trunk,  read- 
ing a  paper,  or  discussing  the  last  night's  caucus  at  O'Shanty's. 
Every  question  is  answered  as  if  the  man  had  just  arrived, 
and  this  was  the  first  question  he  had  heard  in  thirteen 
weeks.  You  are  not  stared  at  when  you  inquire  for  infor- 
mation, nor  frowned  at,  nor  told  to  go  to  hell.  I  rather 
miss  that  last. 

And  another  thing  which  makes  this  English  travelling 
pleasant  is  the  station  restaurant,  —  commodious,  neat,  and 
convenient,  —  where  you  can  get  a  cup  of  tea,  or  a  glass  of 
ale  or  gin,  a  sandwich,  bun,  or  something  else,  for  the  same 
price  that  you  pay  in  the  ordinary  city  restaurant.  A  tired 
traveller  takes  a  sandwich  (four  cents),  a  bun  (two  cents), 
cup  of  tea  (four  cents),  glass  of  ale  (four  cents),  or  the 
whole  for  just  one  cent  less  than  a  single  cup  of  coffee  costs 
at  the  railway  restaurant  in  Stamford,  Conn ;  and  yet  flour, 
tea,  and  ale  are  no  cheaper  here. 

Spiers  and  Pond  are  the  refreshment  cephalopod  of  Eng- 
land, whose  arms  stretch  out  in  all  directions  ;  the  body  being 


148  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

the  Criterion  theatre  and  cafe  near  Piccadilly  Circus,  in  Lon- 
don. Every  American  visitor  has  seen  the  name  posted 
prominently  over  the  railway  and  London  theatre  restaurants 
and  bars,  and  beneath  it  he  has  found  protection  from 
fraud. 

Spiers  and  Pond  are  Australians,  who  made  some  money 
there,  and  a  few  years  ago  came  to  England  with  a  body  of 
cricketers.  These  men  they  displayed  for  a  fee ;  and  the 
gate  receipts  enabled  them  to  inaugurate  a  system  of  exten- 
sive refreshment,  which  to-day  makes  them  the  kings  in  the 
business.  And  no  kings  have  so  grateful  an  empire.  They 
employ  young  womc^n  exclusively  to  tend  the  bars,  paying 
them  from  one  hundred  to  one  hundred  and  thirty  dollars  a 
year  and  their  board.  A  young  lady,  to  qualify  for  their  em- 
ploy, must  dress  in  plain  black,  and  eschew  ribbons  and 
flowers  and  ostentatious  jewelry. 

They  are  better  paid  than  other  bar-maids. 

You  have  already  heard  of  the  introduction  of  the  Pullman 
cars  into  England.  There  are  four  of  the  cars,  and  they  are 
run  by  the  Midland  Company. 

The  four  cars  stood  in  the  St.  Pancras  Depot  for  a  month 
or  more  before  being  used,  and  were  visited  daily  by  a  won- 
dering people.  Two  of  them  are  drawing-room  cars,  and 
the  others  sleepers.  These  are  the  first  sleeping-cars  in  use 
in  this  country.  Previously,  travellers  were  compelled  to 
nod  away  in  a  sitting  posture  ;  and  any  American  who  has 
attempted  to  while  away  a  night  in  that  position  is  undoubt- 
ctlly  surprised  at  the  progress  of  the  English  nation  in  art, 
science,  and  finance. 

These  two  sleeping-cars  are  the  only  ones  in  use  in  all 
England  ;  but  there  is  no  difficulty  in  getting  a  berth.  They 
are  exclusively  patronized  by  Americans.  An  Englishman 
has  a  horror  of  bting  pitched  into  eternity  in  his  under- 
clothes. The  English  do  not  yet  take  kindly  to  the  drawing- 
room  cars,  either.     They  like  to  look  through  the  windows 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  I49 

at  the  rich,  warm  tints  of  the  upholstery,  and  to  stand  on 
the  end  platforms  and  try  them  by  springing  up  and  down. 
But  they  are  a  little  timid.  And  they  don't  know  who  this 
Pullman  is.  The  day  will  come,  I  firmly  believe,  when  the 
American  cars  will  be  the  only  ones  in  use  here.  Why  they 
have  not,  years  ago,  taken  the  place  of  the  awkward  and  in- 
convenient carriages  now  in  use,  is  directly  due  to  the  emi- 
nently conservative  element  in  the  English  character. 

The  people  dread  changes. 

But  the  Midland  Company  has  entered  the  wedge  by  in- 
troducing the  Pullman  cars,  and  by  building  themselves  cars 
to  accompany  the  Pullman  train,  which  are  in  exterior  exact- 
ly similar  to  our  coaches,  even  to  the  monitor  roofs,  but  are 
divided  inside  into  compartments,  which  are  approached  by 
a  side-aisle  like  that  running  along  a  Pullman  stateroom. 
The  aisle,  in  time,  will  come  to  the  centre  ;  the  partitions  will 
come  down ;  and  all  the  passengers  will  sit  looking  one  way, 
and  that  in  the  direction  going,  instead  of  one-half  riding, 
as  they  are  now  obliged,  with  their  backs  to  the  engine. 

There  is,  in  the  locomotives,  another  evidence  of  this  op- 
position to  change.  They  are  small,  and  exceedingly  unpre- 
tentious. There  is  no  array  of  burnished  steel  and  brasses, 
with  a  cun'ed  black  walnut  cab  and  French  plate  windows. 
The  engine  consists  simply  of  the  boiler,  smoke-pipe,  and 
steam- whistle.  Sometimes  you  imagine  it  consists  entirely 
of  the  steam-whistle ;  but  that  is  only  when  it  blows.  I 
always  crawl  under  the  seat  when  I  hear  it :  I  can't  help  it. 
The  machinery  is  below.     And  as  for  the  cab,  there  is  none. 

If  the  railway  companies  of  England  did  not  know  that  it 
was  possible  to  have  a  house  on  their  locomotives,  the 
absence  of  it  could  hardly  be  charged  as  a  lack  of  human- 
ity ;  but,  with  the  example  of  America  before  them,  it  is  not 
only  ridiculous,  but  inhuman,  to  leave  the  engine-driver  and 
stoker  unprotected  from  the  weather. 

A  few  years  ago  they  had  nothing  but  the  boiler-end  in 


150  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW, 

front  of  them  ;  but  of  late  a  sheet-iron  screen  has  been  added, 
behind  which  they  can  croucli  when  the  sleet  or  keen  air  or 
rain  conies  too  strong.  But,  when  the  locomotive  is  at  rest, 
the  driver  and  stoker  get  the  full  force  of  the  storm. 

I  believe  the  claim  in  behalf  of  this  style  is,  that  the  driver 
has  a  better  control  of  the  track :  in  other  words,  he  is  not 
lulletl  into  false  security  by  the  warmth  and  comfort  of  his 
place.  But  this  is  nullified  by  the  several  severe  accidents 
which  have  occurred  through  the  driver  being  benumbed  by 
the  cold.  They  say,  also,  that  the  weather  is  not  so  severe 
here  as  in  America.  That  is  so  ;  but  the  rain  is  wet  enough 
to  soak  one  to  the  skin,  and  there  is  snow  and  hail  and 
frost.  A  man  doesn't  need  to  be  frozen  dead  to  experience 
l)ain  and  discomfort.  But  the  sheet-iron  fenders,  with  a 
feeble  effort  to  curl  over  at  the  top  as  if  approaching  to  a 
roof,  is  a  concession  to  our  way ;  and  the  day  will  come  also 
when  these  locomotives  will  have  cabs,  even  if  they  are 
painted  all  over  a  dead  green  as  the  locomotives  themselves 
are. 

The  man  who  is  called  a  conductor  in  America  is  a 
"guard  "  here.  The  guard  sees  that  the  train  starts  on  time, 
and  then  steps  into  his  van  and  takes  a  high  seat  beneath 
where  the  roof  is  raised  to  accommodate  him,  and  sided  with 
glass,  that  he  may  see  along  the  top  of  the  train  on  either 
side  of  his  carriage.  All  trains  running  twenty  miles  or 
more  without  stopping  are  provided  with  a  cord  stretchetl 
along  the  outside  of  the  carriage,  over  the  doors,  and  within 
reach  of  the  passenger.  In  case  of  assault,  or  sudden  illness, 
or  any  other  cause  reiiuiring  a  stopping  of  the  train,  the 
cord  is  pulled,  and,  if  in  the  day,  a  flag  is  raised  on  the 
carriage,  or,  in  the  night,  a  light  is  shown.  The  flag  or  light 
is  observed  by  the  guard,  the  train  is  stojiped,  and  he,  hav- 
ing the  location,  proceeds  to  attend  to  the  matter.  In  the 
van  with  the  guard  is  the  brakeman  (a  brakeman  if  the  train 
is  a  long  one),  who  applies  the  brake  to  the  car  which  they 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WJNDOW.  I5I 

occupy.  The  brake  on  the  engine  with  this  checks  the 
train.  There  is  no  brake  on  any  of  the  passenger-carriages, 
excepting  on  some  of  the  first-class  trains,  where  the  air- 
brake is  used.  In  the  case  of  the  shunting  (or  switching) 
of  several  passenger-cars,  their  bringing-up  depends  on  the 
calculation  of  the  driver. 

Our  American  style  of  brake  can  only  be  introduced  here 
upon  the  advent  of  the  American  coaches. 

A  short  train  is  managed  by  the  guard  alone  ;  and  there  is 
no  baggage-master,  the  luggage  being  taken  care  of  by  the 
station  agent  or  porters. 

The  guard  does  not  examine  or  take  up  the  tickets,  and 
has  no  business-communication  with  the  passengers.  He 
merely  starts  the  train,  and  accompanies  it  to  take  care  of  it. 

The  wages  paid  on  the  railways  differ  somewhat  from 
ours.  The  guard,  or  conductor,  receives  between  seven  and 
eight  dollars  a  week ;  driver,  ten  and  eleven  dollars ;  fire- 
man, six  dollars  ;  and  brakeman,  from  four  to  five  dollars. 

The  stockholders  make  more  money  than  that. 

The  freight-cars,  here  called  goods-carriages,  are  of  the 
size  of  the  passenger-coaches,  but  are  not  roofed,  being  built 
pen-fashion.  The  goods,  when  necessary,  are  protected  from 
the  weather  by  oil-cloth  covers. 

The  stranger  notices  the  names  of  various  business  firms 
on  the  freight-cars,  and  is  puzzled  to  understand  it.  These 
cars  are  private  property,  belonging  to  the  firms  whose  names 
they  bear,  and  who  find  it  cheaper  to  furnish  them. 

A  few  evenings  ago,  while  in  a  company  at  a  public-house 
in  a  little  Derbyshire  village,  the  conversation  turned  on  rail- 
ways ;  and  a  rakish-looking  gentleman  of  sixty-five  years,  and 
ferocious  memory,  asked  us  if  we  knew  where  the  first  rail- 
way to  carry  passengers  by  a  steam-engine  was  located.  A 
Manchester  gentleman  promptly  replied,  "  From  Manchester 
to  Liverpool."  —  "  Wrong,"  said  the  aged  and  attentive  in- 
dividual.    "  It  was  from  Stockton  to  Darlington  ;  "  and,  look- 


152  ENGLAND    FROM    A    HACK-WINDOW. 

ing  about  tlic  company,  impressively  added,  "  and  anybody 
but  a  numskull  would  know  it."  A  sharp  discussion  between 
the  two  followed,  and  a  wager  was  laid  to  decide  the  result. 
They  were  to  meet  in  Manchester  a  week  from  that  even- 
ing ;  and  looking  at  me,  and  seeing  the  gTeat  variety  of 
intelligence  beaming  from  my  eye,  I  was  unanimously  chosen 
umpire.  A  movement  so  wise  could  hardly  fail  of  being  an 
omen  of  success,  and  I  attended  full  of  hoi)e.  The  rakish 
gent  of  sixty-five  English  winters  was  not  on  hand  ;  but  the 
Manchester  party  appeared,  followed  by  two  porters  reeling 
under  a  pyramid  of  oppressive-looking  books.  The  authori- 
ties were  consulted,  and  the  Manchester  disputant  proved 
right.  The  Stockton  and  Darlington  Road  was  built  in  1825 
for  the  hauling  of  coals,  and  the  Manchester  and  Liverpool 
Road  was  opened  in  1830  for  the  carrying  of  passengers. 


ENGLAND  FROM  A  BACK-WINDOW.       1 53 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

\VHICH   GIVES  A   DASH   INTO   RUR-A.L   ENGLAND. 

HISTORY  interests  us  in  England's  places  ;  fiction,  in 
its  ruins  ;  and  report,  in  its  agricultural  and  social  life. 

Having  attended  the  places  of  note,  I  yearned  for  ruins 
and  rural  life. 

I  thought  to  get  into  some  retired  nook,  and  spend  the 
sunshine  in  quiet  lanes  and  blossoming  fields.  I  went  to 
Guilford  to  take  a  preparatory  look.  I  found  the  fields  and 
lanes  to  be  all  I  desired,  and  the  board-bill  —  to  be  much 
more  than  I  could  afford. 

Fifty  dollars  a  week  for  two  is  too  much  to  pay  in  a  quiet 
rural  retreat  in  the  midst  of  a  cheap  country. 

Then  I  went  to  Dorking.  I  inclined  to  Dorking  because 
of  Tony  Weller  and  the  Marquis  of  Granby.  I  found  Dork- 
ing to  be  twenty  odd  miles  from  London,  in  famous  Surrey, 
surrounded  by  parks  and  fancy-gardening,  with  a  healthy  air, 
no  ruins,  and  fifty  dollars  a  week. 

I  backed  away  from  Dorking  with,  a  great  deal  of  awe. 

Then  a  good  London  friend  came  to  the  rescue,  and 
packed  me  off  to  King's  Lynn^  in  antique,  historical,  and 
agricultural  Norfolk.  And  here  I  am,  and  here  I  should 
like  to  stay  the  rest  of  my  sojourn  in  Europe. 

It  was  a  mellow  twilight  when  the  train  drew  up  to  the 
Lynn  Station,  We  had  passed  through  Cambridge  and 
much  marshy  land  beyond  ]  and  here  we  were  in  the  old 


154  F.NGLAXn    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

town,  and  in  a  quiet  station,  feeling  around  for  a  'bus  or  a 
hearse,  and  fortunately  finding  the  former. 

We  rolled  through  a  quiet  street,  with  walls  of  dingy  brick 
on  each  side,  and  built  as  compactly  as  if  it  were  a  city  of  a 
million  people,  with  land  at  a  guinea  the  square  inch.  We 
passed  into  another  and  still  narrower  street ;  and  I  looked 
for  signs  of  Hfe  and  business,  and  found  but  precious  little 
of  the  former,  and  none  whatever  of  the  latter. 

We  went  on  into  another  street  with  no  change  at  all.  I 
began  to  think  I  had  missed  the  'bus,  and  got  into  the  other 
vehicle,  after  all  my  care.  Presently  we  ambled  on  to  a  paved 
square,  across  it  to  a  frowning-looking  structure,  and  were 
set  down  in  front  of  an  archway,  down  whose  court  shone  a 
light  from  a  many-paned  window.  And  this  was  the  Duke's 
Head. 

There  was  a  bustle  in  the  archway  on  our  arrival.  The 
boots  took  our  luggage ;  a  chambermaid  appeared,  armed 
with  a  candle  ;  and  then  I  found  a  stairway  leading  direct 
from  the  paved  court  up  into  the  building. 

And  such  a  stairway  !  —  broad  enough  for  six  men  to  go 
up  abreast,  and  containing  an  amount  of  timber  sufficient  to 
build  a  man-of-war.  It  was  built  of  oak,  browned  by  oil  and 
age,  and  its  steps  so  polished  by  beeswax  as  to  be,  beyond 
the  carpeting,  unsafe  to  stand  upon.  Several  centuries  have 
come  and  gone  since  these  stairs  were  erected.  The  huge 
newel-post  and  neatly-car\ed  balustrades  were  made  before 
machinery  for  the  work  was  known  or.  dreamed  of:  and, 
when  I  look  at  what  the  untutored  sons  of  those  dark  ages 
performed,  I  am  filled  with  awe  ;  then  I  get  over  on  the 
beeswax  and  slip  and  strain  myself,  and  crawl  back  to  the 
carpet,  and  slope  gradually  away. 

It  is  a  splendid  evidence  of  the  substantial  architectural 
ideas  of  three  hundred  years  ago  ;  and  the  only  time  I  can 
restrain  my  admiration  of  it  is  when  I  find  at  the  bottom 
that  I  have  forgotten  something  at  the  top.     The  house  is 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  1 55 

full  of  narrow  passages,  odd  nooks,  low  ceilings,  and  capa- 
cious parlors  or  sitting-rooms. 

A\'hcn  I  get  tired  of  roaming  about  it,  I  go  up  the  paved 
archway,  and  into  a  paved  court  with  low  brick  stables  on 
each  side,  and  watch  the  hostler  clean  the  traps  (carriages). 

There  is  nothing  particularly  exciting  about  cleaning  a 
carriage,  unless  it  prevents  you  from  going  on  a  picnic ; 
but  this  hostler  is  just  such  a  hostler  as  I  have  read  of.  He 
wears  leggings,  touches  his  cap  when  speaking  to  you,  and 
makes  a  hissing  noise  with  his  lips  while  at  work.  He 
may  miss  some  particular  portion  of  the  vehicle ;  but  he 
never  misses  the  hiss,  but  keeps  it  going  without  cessation 
throughout  the  job. 

I  have  said  there  was  a  square  in  front  of  the  house.  It 
is  full  three  acres  in  extent,  and  every  inch  of  it  is  cobbled. 
So  are  the  streets  and  lanes  and  courts  opening  into  it. 

Lynn  in  America  is  not  more  cobbled  than  is  this  English 
Lynn. 

This  is  the  Tuesday  market-square,  and  on  it  is  the  corn 
exchange  (all  grain  is  called  corn  in  England) .  Then  there 
is  the  Saturday  market-place,  in  the  shadow  of  the  venerable 
St.  Margaret. 

Lynn  is  built  entirely  of  dingy  brick,  cobble,  and  concrete. 
Its  streets,  with  few  exceptions,  are  very  narrow,  absurd- 
ly crooked,  and  all  cobbled.  It  boasts  of  seventeen  thou- 
sand inhabitants,  but  does  not  cover  near  the  ground  of  a 
New-England  village  of  half  the  population.  The  houses 
are  put  close  together,  presenting  an  unbroken  wall  at  the 
front ;  and  every  few  rods  there  is  a  long,  narrow  courf* 
choking  with  tenements.  Every  street  is  paved,  and  every 
sidewalk  flagged. 

High  Street  is  narrow  and  wayward  in  its  course.  The 
roadway  is  of  just  such  a  width ;  and,  as  the  foundations  of 
the  houses  are  in-egular  at  the  front,  the  sidewalks  are  varied 
in  their  widths,  —  either  spread  out  full  six  feet,  or  squeezed 


156  ENGLAND    FROM    A    nACK-WINDOW. 

into  one  foot.  In  consequence,  many  of  the  people  are 
crowded  off  into  the  roadway,  and  walk  there  with  their 
backs  up.  Of  a  Saturday  evening  both  the  roadway  and 
walks  are  thronged  with  j)eople,  with  not  a  team  in  sight ; 
and  the  scene  is  quite  picturestjue  and  uncomfortable. 

Lynn  looks,  with  its  two  and  three  storied  houses,  as  if  it 
had  been  beaten  into  the  earth  with  a  gigantic  mallet. 

Many  of  the  houses  have  their  second  stories  protruding 
over  the  walk.  That  was  a  very  economical  way  of  building 
two  hundred  years  ago,  as  there  was  no  cost  for  air,  and  the 
builder  got  more  room  on  the  second  floor  than  he  could 
get  from  his  deed  on  the  first.  During  a  rain-storm  the  pro- 
tuberances are  nice  to  stand  under,  and  watch  somebody 
go  by  with  your  umbrella. 

I  am  rather  particular  in  describing  Lynn,  but  not  too 
much  so ;  for  it  is  a  prototy])e  of  all  English  country-towns, 
—  close  built,  as  if  shrinking  from  God's  sunshine  and 
nature's  beauties,  and  as  scrupulously  paved  as  if  a  street 
commissioner  w'ere  a  myth,  and  not  live  flesh  and  blood,  I 
have  been  into  a  number  of  English  towns  in  the  past  month, 
and  I  have  noticed  no  important  difference  in  their  architect- 
ural features. 

Men  in  smock-frocks,  corduroy  pants,  and  holinailed 
shoes,  are  common,  and  are  to  be  met  with  on  every  street. 
There  are  also  many  knee-breeches  and  stockinged  calves. 
I  like  to  see  them. 

But  Lynn  and  the  countrj-lowns  generally  difier  from 
London  in  one  important  aspect.  The  men  are  not  habitu- 
ated to  umbrellas.  Every  Londoner  carries  an  umbrella, 
and  would  as  soon  think  of  going  out  without  the  back  of 
his  head  as  without  an  umbrella.  It  is  his  constant  comi)an- 
ion  at  every  step,  —  on  the  promenade,  at  church,  the  i)lay,  at 
the  shop,  everywhere.  He  doesn't  carrj'  it  because  he  has 
a  special  fondness  for  it,  or  because  there  is  any  particular 
virtue  in  its  possession ;   but  he  carries  it  because  it  is  a 


ENGLAND    FROM   A    BACK-WINDOW.  1 5/ 

habit ;  and  he  could  no  more  break  himself  of  it  than  he 
could  break  from  any  other  habit,  unless  he  should  diet  him- 
self, and  consent  to  be  placed  under  a  physician's  care  ; 
which  he  rarely  does.  He  paws  over  shop-goods  with  it ; 
sticks  it  into  tarts  ;  and,  for  all  I  know  to  the  contrary, 
pokes  it  into  the  ribs  of  his  dead  friends  to  see  what  they 
died  of. 

The  Lynn  man,  and  tlie  rural  man  in  general,  seldom 
carries  an  umbrella ;  but  he  is  partial  to  a  stick.  From  the 
nobleman  down  to  what  is  expressively  called  a  "  clodhop- 
per," all  carry  sticks.  At  a  farmer's  house  I  recently  visited 
I  saw  no  less  than  twelve  substantial  sticks  hanging  up  in 
his  hall.  They  were  used  by  himself;  and,  in  looking  over 
them,  I  was  very  much  struck  by  a  remark  he  made. 
It  was,  — 

"  I  must  be  having  a  new  stick  soon." 

An  English  town  is  not  so  cheerful  appearing  as  an  Ameri- 
can town :  far  from  it.  There  are  no  wooden  buildings ; 
none  painted  white  with  green  blinds  ;  no  gardens,  fruit-trees, 
shrubs,  turf,  and  neatly-painted  fence  at  the  front.  The  resi- 
dences, like  the  shops,  are  built  close  to  the  walk,  are  devoid 
of  color  (except  the  dingy  color  of  the  bricks  or  cobbles  of 
which  they  are  composed),  and  make  no  pretence  whatever 
to  architectural  display.  That  is  reserved  for.  the  churches. 
There  are  a  few  exceptions  to  this  picture ;  but  the  general 
aspect  is  depressing  to  an  American. 

In  this  town  of  seventeen  thousand  population  one  can 
count  on  his  fingers  the  number  of  fashionably-dressed  ladies 
(as  we  understand  the  fashion)  to  be  met  on  High  Street 
any  pleasant  afternoon.  Perhaps  the  upper  classes,  the 
gentry  or  quality,  where  we  should  look  for  the  latest  fashions 
and  the  costliest  dress,  keep  themselves  secluded. 

Perhaps,  again,  High  Street  is  so  narrow,  so  dingy,  and 
so  impoverished  as  to  sidewalk,  that  Fashion  is  afraid  to 
stride  throuc^h  it. 


158  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINOOW. 

In  the  olden  time  of  very  warm  politics,  and  in  the  later 
season  of  red-hot  religion,  Lynn  and  all  Nt)rro]k  was  up  to 
its  ears  in  trouble.  Lynn  was  then  a  walled  city,  and  in  the 
country  round  about  were  walled  and  moated  castles.  One 
of  the  gates  to  Lynn  still  stands,  —  a  scjuare,  pyramidal  tower, 
with  a  narrow  arch  beneath,  through  which  the  traffic  to  the 
populous  country  beyond  passes.  Above  are  several  rooms 
where  the  warder  and  guards  were  then  stationed,  and  where 
now  numerous  doves  are  providing  for  future  successes  in 
agriculture.  Here  and  there  are  fragments  of  the  old  wall, 
built  heterogeneously  of  brick,  stone,  cobble,  and  mortar,  and 
bidding  fair  to  remain,  if  left  to  time,  five  centuries  hence. 

All  the  churches  about  here  —  and,  wherever  you  find  a 
cluster  of  houses,  you  find  a  parish  and  a  church  —  are  of 
pretty  much  the  same  pattern.  They  were  built  by  the  Catho- 
lics ;  are  of  gray  stone,  brown-shell  car  stone,  or  broken  flint. 
The  last  is  used  promiscuously  with  brick  in  most  of  the 
structures.  The  flint  is  an  irregular-shaped  stone,  about  the 
size  of  your  fist  when  you  are  not  feeling  particularly  mad,  with 
a  light-colored  surface.  When  broken,  the  inside  shows  a 
steel-blue  color  that  makes  a  very  tasteful  facing  to  a  building. 
But,  when  these  old  churches  were  built,  the  flint-stones  were 
put  in  whole,  or,  if  broken,  mixed  up  with  brick,  without  any 
regard  to  details,  but  looking  merely  for  a  symmetrical  whole. 

The  building  consists  of  a  high  square  tower  at  the  front, 
with  flat  top.  Running  back  from  this  is  the  body  of  the 
building,  with  very  steep  roof  and  Norman  windows. 

They  are  pretty  much  all  alike  in  outside  appearance,  the 
only  difference  being  in  the  numl)cr  of  windows.  I  should 
judge  they  were  built  under  one  contract,  and  from  one  moilel. 
Tile  walls  are  plastered  ;  the  ceilings  are  of  oak-timber,  i)lain 
or  carved  ;  and  the  floors  are  of  flagging. 

Fretjuently  there  is  a  matting ;  but  generally  the  flagging 
is  bare,  the  only  warming  influence  to  it  being  the  eulogies 
of  the  dead  they  cover  and  keep  down. 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  1 59 

We  have  the  dead  all  over  the  buildings.  There  will  be 
fathers  in  the  porch,  aunts  in  the  aisles,  uncles  in  the  tran- 
septs, with  cousins  and  grandmothers  under  all  the  seats. 

Many  of  these  churches,  although  in  {jarishes  scarcely  num- 
bering forty  houses,  are  over  five  centuries  old.  The  family 
of  the  lord  or  the  s(]^uire  of  the  neighborhood  are  assigned  to 
near  the  altar;  and  here,  on  curiously- \\Tought  flagging,  are 
the  virtuous  deeds  and  characteristics  of  the  deceased  set 
forth. 

The  English  people  revere  their  church-buildings,  but  more 
especially  the  windows,  doors,  and  fonts.  They  have  a  church 
in  Lynn  which  is  called  the  St.  Margaret,  —  a  very  large  and 
venerable  pile. 

Now,  you  take  a  thoroughbred  churchman,  and  he  will 
spend  an  entire  day  with  St.  Margaret  and  a  sandwich.  He 
v/lW  stand  for  an  hour  in  front  of  one  window,  and,  after  he 
has  collected  his  senses,  will  discourse  fervently  upon  the 
sweep  of  its  arch,  the  delicacy  of  its  tracery,  and  the  firmness 
of  its  spandrels.  He  will  walk  thirty-two  times  around  a 
font  in  a  sort  of  ecstatic  blind-staggers.  I  could  cut  out 
something  equally  beautiful  from  a  bath  brick  with  a  jack- 
knife  ;  but  I  shall  not  do  it. 

St.  John's  Chapel  is  a  dependency  of  St.  Margaret,  and 
historically  is  of  no  consequence.  But  a  rector  of  St.  John's 
has  saved  his  chapel  from  oblivion. 

You  see  the  dead  were  irregularly  planted,  as  must  neces- 
sarily follow  four  hundred  years  of  inteniient  in  a  two-acre 
lot  laid  out  and  inaugurated  as  the  people  of  that  period 
were  proud  to  do,  believing,  without  doubt,  that  the  Almighty 
could  have  no  use  for  the  world  after  they  departed  from  it, 
and  would  straightway  destroy  it.  So  these  different  grave- 
stones presented  a  very  much  broken  front  to  the  eye,  from 
whatever  direction  they  were  viewed.  The  rector  was  dis- 
pleased with  that.  He  said  harmony  was  one  of  the  chief 
objects  of  life  ;  and,  to  produce  a  little  of  the  chief  object,  he 


l60  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

pulled  up  the  grave-stones,  and  set  them  out  in  symmetrical 
rows.  Tliey  look  very  pretty  now ;  but,  as  the  signs  were 
reset  without  regard  to  the  location  of  the  parties  who  had 
been  doing  business  beneath  them,  the  effect  is  not  exactly 
picturesque  upon  the  mind  of  the  survivors.  In  fact,  they 
don't  know  where  to  look  for  their  dead,  but  have  to  drop 
the  sad  tear  at  random.  This  is  unpleasant  to  the  friends, 
and  must  be  somewhat  embarrassing  to  the  deceased.  But 
one  of  the  objects  of  life  is  gained. 

There  is  another  church  quite  famous  :  that  is  St.  Nicholas. 

Part  of  the  stones  that  form  the  floor  to  St.  Nicholas  were 
once  set  off  with  brass  effigies  and  epitaphs ;  but  in  Crom- 
well's time  much  of  this  metal  was  torn  up  and  carried  away, 
and  marks  of  the  violence  of  those  days  are  to  be  seen  in 
nearly  every  church  in  this  section. 

The  tomb  of  Robinson  Crusoe  is  in  this  church.  It  is 
just  inside  the  south  porch,  and  I  had  walked  over  it  several 
times  before  I  had  discovered  it.  His  faithful  companion  is 
here  too,  I  should  judge  ;  as  the  stone  reads  that  Mr.  Crusoe 
was  buried  on  Friday. 

The  first  day  that  I  was  in  St.  Nicholas  Church  I  witnessed 
a  wedding.  I  was  not  going  to  stay  to  it,  as  it  revived  too 
many  painful  recollections  ;  but  Mrs.  Bailey  was  determined 
to  remain,  as  she  wanted  to  see  an  English  ser\ice.  She  said 
that  it  was  much  different  from  the  way  performed  in  our 
country,  much  sweeter  and  more  impressive ;  and  she  must 
remain  to  see  it. 

About  three  o'clock  the  next  morning  I  was  awakened  out 
of  a  sound  sleep  by  this  (juestion  :  — 

"What  do  you  suppose  she  paid  for  that  bonnet?" 

The  marriage  took  place  pretty  much  as  such  events  come 
off  anywhere.  There  were  the  head  victims,  and  four  maiils 
and  "  best "  men  ;  also  a  few  immediate  friends  ;  in  addi- 
tion, a  number  of  women  from  the  neighborhood,  bare- 
headed, bare-armed,  and  flavored  like  the  back  end  of  a  fish- 
market. 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  l6l 

When  the  ceremony  was  over,  I  liad  an  illustration  of  the 
stability  of  the  English  house-service.  A  stranger  asked  the 
sexton  who  was  being  married  ;  and  the  sexton  said,  — 

"  Mrs.  Aguinley's  cook." 

"  Ah  !  "  grunted  the  gentleman,  and  moved  away,  looking 
indescribably  grateful. 

There  was  no  asking  who  the  man  was,  poor  devil ;  nor 
her  name,  poor  dear ;  nor  where  they  came  from  ;  nor  what 
he  was  engaged  in.     It  was  simply,  — 

"Mrs.  Aguinley's  cook." 

And  that  explained  it.  Reverse  the  places.  Put  the  scene 
in  America,  and  have  the  same  question  asked,  would  that 
be  the  answer? 

Mrs.  Aguinley's  cook  ! 

Which  cook  ?  The  one  she  had  last  week,  or  week  before 
last,  or  that  she  has  now?  And  what  is  her  name,  pray? 
But,  more  particularly,  what  is  his  name  ?  and  where  does  he 
work  ? 

Ah,  dear  reader  !  this  is  England,  the  England  of  ages ; 
and  the  woman  who  was  that  day  led  to  the  altar  was  Mrs. 
Aguinley's  cook,  and  had  been  her  cook  for  twenty  years,  and 
would  go  back  there  to  be  her  cook  for  years  and  years  to 
come,  God  willing.  His  place  may  be  here  to-day,  and  there 
to-morrow,  for  he  is  a  mechanic ;  but  she  is  here  forever. 
And  every  man,  woman,  and  child  knows  that  Mrs.  Aguinley 
has  a  cook,  and  being  Mrs.  Aguinley's  cook  is  to  be  respec- 
table ;  and  that's  all  of  it. 

There  is  one  person  in  Lynn  whom  the  visitor  cannot  well 
avoid  noticing :  he  is  the  towii-crier.  He  dresses  in  a  suit 
of  blue,  and  wears  a  high  silk  hat  with  a  broad  gold  band 
about  it.  There  is  also  gold  lace  on  the  wristband  of  his 
coat,  and  a  cord  down  his  trousers-leg.  There  are  three 
weekly  papers  in  Lynn,  whose  columns  are  open  to,  and  are 
well  patronized  by,  the  sellers  and  losers  of  property,  holders 
of  meetings,  &c. ;   but  yet   the  town-crier  flourishes,  and 


1 63  ENGLAND    FROM    A    HACK-WINDOW. 

keeps  liis  appetite,  in  spite  of  the  press.  Every  day  or  so  he 
makes  his  appearanee  in  the  pubhc  scjuare,  and,  after  ringing 
his  bell  to  attract  the  attention  of  the  populace,  proceeds  to 
thunder  out  the  various  notices  intrusted  to  him,  very  much 
to  the  edification  of  the  little  shopkeeper  across  the  way,  the 
hr)stler  of  the  Woolpack,  and  three  dirty  little  girls  nursing  a 
baby,  and  numerous  flies  on  "the  steps  of  the  central  orna- 
ment of  the  square,  who  are  (juite  frequently  his  entire  audi- 
ence. 

His  tones  are  stentorian  ;  but' he  does  not  look  blown.  He 
divides  his  talk  by  dividing  his  sentences  :  this  has,  I  regret 
to  say,  a  tendency  to  mar  the  original  text. 

To  be  a  market-town  is  to  be  a  town  of  some  importance. 
The  market-day  is  not,  perhaps,  so  active  as  were  the  market- 
days  of  the  time  when  railways  had  not  made  distant  places 
easy  of  access ;  but  still  there  is  a  great  deal  of  significance 
to  a  market-day  in  the  nineteenth  century.  That  of  Saturday 
is  a  minor  institution.  It  is  held  in  the  shadow  of  St.  Mar- 
garet's Church,  and  consists  of  numerous  booths,  presided 
over  mostly  by  women,  where  are  vended  hams,  beads,  tur- 
nips, prayer-books,  veal-cutlets,  and  buttons ;  also  qJoetry 
and  eels. 

The  venders  belong  in  Lynn  or  the  neighborhood,  and  are 
well  patronized.  Why  they  should  assemble  together  thus 
once  a  week  for  the  purpose  of  trade  is  a  matter  I  am  in- 
tently studying  up,  but  feel  hopeless  of  discovering. 

The  Tuesday  market  consists  of  booths,  as  before  men- 
tioned, on  the  square  in  front  of  our  inn,  a  grain-market  held 
in  the  corn-exchange  building  ojjposite  to  us,  and  a  cattle- 
market  held  in  a  rail-bounded  square  a  few  blocks  away. 

The  material  difference  between  the  occupiers  of  booths 
on  Tuesday  and  those  on  Saturday  is,  that  the  former  are 
not  residents  of  Lynn,  but  are  a  sort  of  vegetable  and  tape 
Jiuhemians,  travelling  by  wagon  or  push-carl  from  market- 
town  to  market-town.     'I'hey  are  well  patronized,  notwilh- 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  163 

standing  Lynn  is  abundantly  supplied  with  merchants,  who 
look  upon  their  gypsy  rivals  very  much  as  a  man  would  look 
upon  a  streak  of  lightning,  —  something  unpleasant,  but 
hardly  to  be  averted. 

Monday  night  they  begin  to  arrive ;  and,  as  the  twilight 
sets  in,  they  fall  to  and  put  up  the  frames  to  their  canvas. 
I  believe  they  work  all  night,  as.  they  very  well  can  ;  for  in 
England,  in  the  summer  season,  twilight  follows  daylight 
about  ten  p.m.,  and  is  again  succeeded  by  daylight  at  two 
A.M.     It  is  never  dark. 

But  the  cattle-market  is  the  most  interesting  in  Tuesday's 
proceedings.  I  can  walk  for  an  hour  at  a  time  through  the 
sheep-lanes  without  weariness.  The  sheep  (and  that  ani- 
mal predominates  here)  are  no  different  from  the  sheep  at 
home ;  but  the  people  are  who  attend  them.  Here  are  cor- 
duroy clothes,  hobnailed  shoes,  smock-frocks,  and  little  round 
hats  in  profusion.  Here  also  are  striding,  red-faced,  bluff- 
hearty  English  farmers,  with  drab  suits,  high  silk  hats,  and 
the  inevitable  and  inextinguishable  stick. 

Here  is  the  constant  "  ah  !  "  and  "  oy  !  "  and  "  unh  !  "  and 
"  whey- whey  !  "  and  "  aye  !  "  sounded  by  high  and  low. 
Here  is  the  "  bloody  lot "  stigmatized,  and  the  "  blarsted 
eyes  "  apostrophized,  and  the  "  dirty  beggars  "  threatened. 
But  amid  all  the  hurry,  discussion,  yelping  of  dogs,  and  bleat- 
ing of  sheep,  cannot  be  distinguished  a  single  oath.  I  don't 
understand  it.     It  makes  me  lonesome. 


164  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

BRINGS   US  TO   ENGLISH    FARM-LIFE. 

WHEN  I  broached  to  a  London  friend  my  desire  to 
go  among  the  Enghsh  farmers,  and  learn  something 
about  them,  he  gravely  shook  his  head. 

"The  English  farmer,"  said  he,  "is  a  curious  specimen 
of  perverse  humanity.  He  is  reticent,  suspicious,  jealous. 
The  farming  country  of  England  is  divided  into  the  large 
estates  of  noblemen  and  squires.  These  estates  are  subdi- 
vided into  farms,  and  rented  out  to  the  men  who  form  a 
most  important  class  in  this  country.  They  hold  these  farms 
by  good  behavior ;  and  it  is  the  tenant's  ambition  to  keep  his 
place  all  his  life,  and  bequeath  it  to  his  oldest  son  on  his 
death.  Many  of  the  present  possessors  of  farms  were  born 
on  them,  as  their  fathers  were  before  them  :  it  is  not  only 
their  home,  but  their  ancestral  liall ;  and  they  guard  it  against 
the  advances  of  rivals  with  jealous  care.  Many  a  man  has 
lost  his  farm  through  some  indiscreet  remark  made  in  the 
presence  of  a  neighbor  who  coveted  his  place,  and  lost  no 
time  in  creating  an  unfavorable  impression  of  him  at  head- 
(luarters.  Then,  again,  as  his  farm  is  not  his  own,  but  always, 
so  to  speak,  in  the  market,  he  is  careful  to  keep  the  proceeds 
from  it  a  secret ;  so  that,  if  he  is  doing  well,  no  neighbor  will 
strive  to  get  his  farm  by  bidding  higher,  and  thus  increase 
the  price  of  his  rent  to  retain  it.  There  are  other  things, 
pcrhajjs,  I  do  not  understand,  that  go  to  make  the  English 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  165 

farmer  tight-headed  :  and  while  I  am  quite  certain  none  of 
them  will  treat  you  disrespectfully,  yet  I  am  positive  you  will 
not  get  a  chance  to  go  over  their  farms,  or  mix  with  their 
households ;  and,  as  far  as  gaining  a  knowledge  of  them  is 
concerned,  your  mission  will  be  fruitless." 

^^'hen  I  got  my  letters  of  introduction,  and  started  dowTi 
into  Norfolk,  I  made  about  as  gloomy  a  procession  as  ever 
entered  that  blossoming  section  of  England.  I  would  make 
a  strong  push  for  help ;  but  it  was  a  melancholy  resolution. 
One  of  the  letters  was  to  a  farmer.  I  hung  about  Lynn 
three  or  four  days,  just  as  a  boy  who  has  shirked  school  and 
the  chores  hovers  about  the  desired  but  dreaded  home- 
stead at  night,  mustering  up  courage  to  present  that  letter. 
This  gave  time  for  the  author  to  get  a  note  down  to  the  farm- 
er in  question ;  and,  the  next  day  after  its  receipt,  the  tiller 
of  the  soil  was  in  Lynn  hunting  me  up,  and  from  that  time 
forth  the  hospitality  and  kindness  which  flowed  from  that 
one  letter  were  simply  remarkable.  The  English  are  hos- 
pitable to  a  fault.  We  found  every  house  open  to  us,  and 
every  thing  done  to  make  us  forget  that  three  thousand  miles 
lay  between  here  and  home.  The  contrast  between  this  and 
the  picture  drawn  by  the  wise  Londoner  needs  no  paint  to 
bring  it  out. 

There  is  this  important  difference  between  holding  farm- 
property  in  America  and  farm-property  in  England. 

In  the  States  it  is  the  rule  to  own  the  farm.  The  propri- 
etor is  thus  his  own  master.  If  the  farm  is  not  a  profitable 
one,  his  sons  go  West,  and  start  one  for  themselves  :  if  it  is 
profitable,  they  either  run  in  debt  and  mortgage  it,  or  go  to 
the  city  to  distinguish  themselves  behind  a  store-counter. 
If  they  are  not  aspiring  or  dissolute,  they  take  the  farm,  and 
work  it  during  their  generation ;  and  all  the  risks  their  father 
ran  as  to  succession  they  now  incur.  If  there  are  several 
sons,  they  cannot  with  their  families  exist  on  this  single  farm  ; 
and  in  this  case  there  is  a  split  up  of  either  the  farm  or  the 


l66  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

family,  and  quite  frequently  of  both.  In  the  exceptional 
case  of  a  rented  farm,  the  tenant,  being  a  true  American, 
stays  on  the  farm  as  long  as  it  will  pay,  or  until  he  sees 
another  in  reach  that  will  pay  better,  which  he  at  once  takes. 
I  le  educates  his  boys  to  a  profession,  so  that  they  shall  not 
have  to  work  as  he  does ;  and  farming  runs  out  of  the  family 
upon  his  death.  With  the  English  farmer,  the  farm  is  alto- 
gether an  inheritance  from  his  father ;  that  is,  the  lease  of 
it.  His  ancestors  are  buried  in  the  little  village  churchyard, 
and  he  has  a  pardonable  anxiety  to  have  his  bones  rest  with 
them.  The  English  farmer  is  just  as  shrewd  and  as  sharp 
as  his  Yankee  brother ;  but  he  is  far  more  conser\'ative. 
The  love  of  home  is  so  woven  into  his  nature  as  to  be  a 
part  of  it ;  and  the  family  homestead,  although  merely  his  by 
sufferance,  is  sacred  in  his  eyes.  To  the  oldest  son  goes 
the  farm,  and  he,  in  turn,  gives  it  to  his  oldest  son  ;  and 
while  shops  and  mills  and  offices  are  filled,  still  the  farm  is 
kept  in  the  family  from  generation  to  generation.  This 
explains  why  the  vast  estates  of  noblemen  have  remained  in 
the  one  family  since  the  day  of  the  Conqueror,  and  are 
nearly  as  intact  to-day  as  when  that  Norman  pirate  awarded 
them  to  his  clamorous  rabble.  The  oldest  son  takes  the 
homestead ;  and  the  others,  if  there  be  no  surplus  to  give 
them  a  start  in  life,  start  themselves,  or  work  for  their 
brother.  I  am  aware  that  much  can  be  said  against  this 
peculiar  division  of  i)roperty ;  but  there  is  this  much  in  its 
favor,  —  the  place  is  kept  in  the  family,  and  reaches  that  per- 
fection which  age  invariably  brings  to  one  management. 
The  man  who  has  been  accustomed  from  infancy  to  one 
arrangement  of  rooms  and  adornment  rarely  cares  to  make 
a  change.  A  repair  is  made  here  and  there,  as  time  reipiires  : 
but  the  landlord  is  seldom  petitionetl  to  pull  down  the  old 
house,  and  erect  a  more  modern  one  in  its  place  ;  and,  if 
he  incurs  the  expense  without  solicitation,  it  is  an  event 
which  has  no  i)arallcl. 


ENGLAND  FROM  A  BACK-WINDOW.       1 6/ 

This  generation  lives  in  the  same  rooms  the  generation 
before  them  occupied  ;  and  that  generation  used  pretty  much 
the  same  furniture,  and  had  before  them  the  same  walls, 
which  their  fathers  and  mothers  used  and  looked  upon.  So 
we  find  to-day  in  the  farmhouses  crooked  passages,  low 
ceilings,  brick  floors,  yawning  fireplaces,  minute  panes  of 
glass,  latticed  windows,  huge  door-knockers,  and  monstrous 
four-poster  beds,  which  ser\'e  the  people  who  contributed  to 
the  revenue  of  the  Virgin  Queen.  There  is  the  kitchen  in  a 
Norfolk  farmhouse,  which  I  shall  always  remember,  and 
which  it  seems  I  could  never  tire  of  looking  at.  The  floor 
was  of  bright-red  tile,  and  worn  into  hollows  by  the  feet  of 
generations  of  the  present  occupant's  family.  The  fire- 
place was  a  marvel  of  width,  and  made  the  kitchen  look  as 
if  it  were  laughing  from  ear  to  ear.  The  andirons  which 
stood  in  it  had  almost  enough  material  in  them  to  make  an 
iron  fence.  The  huge  mantel  above  seemed  to  need  all  its 
strength  to  hold  the  shining  brass  candlesticks.  Ropes  of 
onions  and  various  articles  hung  from  the  whitewashed 
beams  which  formed  the  ceiling.  The  windows  were  as 
broad  as  they  were  high,  with  recesses  almost  roomy  enough 
to  accommodate  a  caucus  of  reformers.  The  chairs  were  of 
oak,  straight  in  the  legs  and  back,  with  one  quaintly  carved, 
so  as  to  press  pomegranates,  angelic  skulls,  and  acorns  into 
your  spine  as  you  leaned  back  in  it ;  and  when  the  table 
was  set  in  the  middle  for  lunch,  with  a  huge  round  of  cold 
beef  in  the  centre,  supported  by  a  fat-bellied  pitcher  of 
foaming  ale,  the  advance  and  glories  of  the  nineteenth 
century  sank  out  of  sight  and  memory. 

But  they  needed  the  deep  window-recesses  and  broad 
benches  in  those  days  to  have  courted  in.  There  were  then 
no  mohair  sofas,  with  spiral  springs  running  up  through  to 
hold  you  on ;  and,  if  our  ancestors  had  depended  strictly  on 
the  stiff  ungainly  chairs  for  their  wooing,  this  world  of  ours 
would  to-day  be  for  rent. 


1 68  ENGLAND    FROM    A    CACK-WIXDOW. 

The  Norfolk  parish  where  I  spent  so  many  pleasant  days 
is  called  West  Winch.  It  is  less  than  a  dozen  miles  from 
Lynn,  and  is  owned  by  Lord  Clare.  There  are  about  twenty- 
five  farmhouses  in  the  parish.  The  Cambridge  turnpike 
runs  through  the  place,  and  on  the  turnpike  is  the  parish 
church  and  churchyard.  The  church  is  of  rubble-work  of 
course,  and  is  five  hundred  years  old.  It  is  supposed  to  be 
the  site  of  a  Roman  burial-place,  from  the  relics  of  tombs 
which  the  sexton's  spade  has  brought  to  light.  Noticeably 
among  these  evidences  is  a  stone  coffin.  There  are  but  few 
of  the  old  English  parish  churches  that  have  not  one  or 
more  stone  coffins.  They  are  hollowed  from  an  oblong 
block  of  stone,  broad  at  the  head,  and  narrow  at  the  foot, 
and  have  a  stone  slab  of  the  same  shape  for  a  cover.  \\'hen 
sealed  up  for  the  funeral,  one  of  them  would  weigh  about  a 
half-ton  ;  and  to  be  a  pall-bearer  in  those  days  must  have 
been  a  most  gloomy  and  sombre  undertaking.  Adjoining 
the  church  is  the  parsonage,  the  venerable  occupant  of 
which  has  been  here  thirty  years,  and  will  remain  till 
"called  up  higher."  He  has  a  pretty  home,  embowered  in 
ivy,  and  guarded  on  every  side  by  flaming  roses.  Opposite 
is  a  public-house  ;  and  along  the  road  about  a  mile,  where 
w-as  once  a  flourishing  market-town,  but  is  now  a  cluster  of  a 
half-dozen  houses,  are  two  more  public-houses ;  and,  as  they 
sell  nothing  but  liquors,  I  don't  understand  how  they  make 
out  to  support  themselves. 

About  a  quarter-mile  off  from  the  road  is  a  common  of 
two  hundred  acres ;  and  along  this  common,  with  a  lane 
ingress  and  egress,  live  the  bulk  of  the  inhabitants  of  West 
AN'inch,  being  farmers.  Each  fiirmer  has  the  privilege  of 
pasturing  so  many  cows,  hogs,  and  horses  on  this  common. 
Once  or  twice  a  year,  at  about  three  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
the  former  is  awakened  from  a  refreshing  sleep  (which  only 
those  who  till  the  soil  and  edit  newsi)apers  enjoy)  by  ihe 
cry  of  the  "  common  driver,"  who,  having  been  born  after 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  1 69 

Lindley  Murray's  death,  shouts  in  stentorian  tones,  "Wake 
up  !  the  common's  to  be  drove  !  "  The  farmer  jumps  out 
of  bed  and  into  his  clothes,  and  in  the  dim  hght  of  morning 
watches  the  drivers  get  together  the  cattle.  They  are  then 
counted ;  and,  if  it  is  found  that  he  has  more  than  his  share 
on  the  pasture,  that  farmer  wishes  he  had  died  years  before 
his  birth.  His  extra  stock  is  confiscated,  and  he  is  shut  out 
from  the  privilege  of  the  pasturage. 

My  friend  has  two  hundred  acres  which  he  farms.  He 
has  the  most  of  it  in  wheat.  It  is  a  singular  feature  of  this 
climate,  that,  while  their  grain  is  up  above  ground  when  the 
soil  of  New  England  has  hardly  escaped  from  the  fetters  of 
frost,  yet  the  harvest  is  no  earlier  than  ours.  He  cut  his 
grass  the  first  of  July,  and  his  grain  the  middle  of  August. 
He  has  four  men  and  two  boys  in  his  employ.  They  are  the 
farm-laborers  you  hear  so  much  about  through  Mr.  Arch  and 
other  agitators.  I  am  not  qualified  to  carry  on  a  discussion 
of  the  English  farm-labor  question.  There  is  much  to  be 
said  on  both  sides,  perhaps,  which  is  not  heard.  They  have 
agiicultural  lock-outs  here,  where  the  laborers  of  a  section, 
in  answer  to  a  behest  from  their  union,  make  a  strike  for 
increased  pay,  do  not  get  it,  and  are  shut  out  from  work. 
Much  destitution  naturally  follows ;  but  then  they  are  in  a 
great  measure  compensated  by  processions,  flags,  bands  of 
music,  speeches,  and  beautifully-framed  resolutions.  All  of 
us  can  get  along  well  enough  without  bread  and  clothes,  and 
might,  possibly,  put  in  a  few  more  weeks  on  this  globe  with- 
out processions,  flags,  and  music  ;  but  we  couldn't  exist  four- 
teen minutes  in  the  absence  of  speeches  and  resolutions. 

The  farm-laborer  here  dresses  in  corduroy  pants,  wearing 
an  over-shirt  of  coarse  white  stuff,  which  reaches  nearly  to  his 
knees.  It  is  called  a  smock-frock.  He  is  further  adorned 
with  a  coarse  wool  hat  having  a  low,  round  crown  (of  the 
shape  of  a  boil),  and  a  narrow  brim  rolling  up  at  the  sides, 
and  a  pair  of  very  heavy  shoes,  whose  hobnails  leave  a  dis- 


I/O  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

tinct  mark  in  soft  eartli  and  the  dust  of  the  road.  Pictures 
a  hundred  years  old  gi\e  this  same  costume,  excepting  that 
the  corduroy  trousers  reached  only  to  the  knees  then,  and 
were  finished  with  black  or  gray  stockings.  The  stockinged 
legs  are  occasionally  seen  now,  but  are  not  common.  As  a 
sort  of  homage  to  that  fashion,  the  laborer  of  to-day  ties  a 
red  string  about  his  pants-leg  just  below  the  knee.  I  asked 
a  gentleman  why  they  did  it ;  but  he  could  not  explain.  I 
said  I  didn't  see  any  sense  in  it ;  and  he  dryly  added,  that 
perhaps  the  wearers  of  the  red  string  didn't  see  any  sense  in 
our  wearing  two  buttons  on  the  back  of  our  coats.  However, 
we  wore  them.     This  soothed  my  curiosity. 

The  laborers  support  themselves,  and  pay  their  own  rent, 
living  in  little  plain  stone  cottages  near  to  the  farms,  —  cot- 
tages which  the  lord  of  the  manor  has  erected  for  their  ac- 
commodation. The  wages  which  they  aspire  to,  and  which 
in  some  sections  is  paid,  is  three  dollars  and  three-quarters  a 
week.  In  some  places  they  work  for  only  two  dollars  and 
a  quarter  a  week.  In  busy  times,  the  Nyife  and  those  of  the 
children  old  enough  go  into  the  field.  Some  of  the  farm- 
laborers,  with  an  income  of  less  than  three  dollars  a  week, 
support  a  family  of  four  or  five.  Awful,  isn't  it?  But,  dear 
reader,  do  you  remember,  that,  before  our  late  unhappy  war, 
common  laborers  in  America  received  but  six  dollars  a  week  ? 
I  knew  of  one  who  had  six  children,  making  a  family  of 
eight,  who  succeeded  in  keeping  out  of  debt  on  six  dollars 
a  week ;  and  in  those  times  he  paid  more  for  his  clothing 
than  the  English  farm-laborer  pays,  and  it  wore  him  a  less 
time.  It  is  not  extraordinary  for  a  i)air  of  English  shoes  to 
last  over  two  years,  and  a  pair  of  corduroy  j^ants  to  wear  five 
years.  The  latter  can  be  bought  for  less  than  two  dollars. 
I  do  not  wish  to  defend  the  system  of  wages  in  England, 
neither  do  I  desire  to  drive  the  poor  and  helpless  into  cordu- 
roy breeches.  I  think  the  farmers  ought  to  pay  their  help 
all  they  can  ;    and  I  hesitate  to  attack  them,  for  fear  they 


'     ENGLAND    FROM   A    BACK-WINDOW.  I /I 

do.  It  is  said  (and  it  must  be  so,  as  I  have  the  word  of 
several  London  gentlemen)  that  many  of  the  farm-laborers 
never  touch  a  mouthful  of  meat  from  one  year's  end  to  an- 
other. But  they  get  along  very  well  without  it.  I  have  seen 
hundreds  of  them  and  their  families ;  and  a  redder-faced, 
brighter-eyed  lot  of  people  I  never  saw,  even  in  a  hotel 
where  there  is  an  abundance  of  meat.  I  honestly  advise  all 
farm-laborers  to  steer  clear  of  meat  in  the  future,  if  they 
value  their  health. 

They  have  roses  on  the  walls  of  their  cottages,  of  course ; 
they  smoke  (and  are  even  beginning  to  chew),  and  they 
have  their  beer.  If  they  prefer  beer  to  beef,  whose  business 
is  it  ?  Their  rents  are  not  so  high  as  the  American  farm- 
laborer,  who  lives  by  himself.  Twenty  dollars  a  year  is  the 
highest,  I  believe.  There  are  places  where  the  benevolent 
wealthy  have  erected  model  cottages  at  a  still  less  rent.  On 
the  estate  of  the  Prince  of  Wales  at  Sandringham  there  are 
quite  a  number  of  these  cottages,  built  of  stone,  with  peaked 
roofs,  containing  four  or  five  rooms,  with  a  bit  of  garden 
attached.  The  rent  is  fifteen  dollars  per  annum.  They  are 
neat  places,  well  ventilated,  and  free  from  lightning-rods. 
In  fact,  there  are  precious  few  lightning-rods  in  all  England ; 
which  is  remarkable,  considering  the  English  people's  dread 
of  a  thunder-storm,  of  which  they  are  always  careful  to  speak 
in  the  most  respectful  terms,  calling  it  a  "tempest." 


172  ENGLAND    FROM   A    BACK-WINDOW. 


CHAPTER  XX. 


MORE    ABOUT    THE    FARM. 


IN  discussing  the  relative  wages  of  American  and  English 
laborers  and,  mechanics,  it  is  well  to  take  into  considera- 
tion the  sort  of  equivalent  their  labor  furnishes  for  those 
wages.  I  contend  that  the  American  works  the  harder  of 
the  two.  If  he  is  on  a  farm,  he  must  be  up  and  at  work, 
choring  around,  at  five  o'clock ;  and  he  has  but  little  relief 
until  eight  or  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening.  He  boards  with 
the  farmer,  who  sends  him  to  bed  when  there  is  nothing 
more  to  do,  and  drags  him  out  again  as  soon  as  it  is  light 
enough  to  see  the  shortest  way  into  his  clothes.  And  during 
the  day  he  works  with  a  will,  spurred  up,  not  by  beer,  but 
by  an  Eg)'ptian  taskmaster,  who  works  like  a  maniac  him- 
self, and  can't  be  made  to  understand  why  evcryl)ody  else 
should  not  do  the  same.  I  have  been  there  myself,  gentle 
reader.  If  he  is  a  mechanic,  and  doesn't  attend  to  his  busi- 
ness, and  do  a  reasonable  amount  of  work  in  the  time,  he  is 
discharged. 

The  English  farm-laborer  gets  to  work  not  earlier  than  six 
o'clock,  has  his  breakfast  at  eight,  dinner  at  one,  and  knocks 
off  at  six.  In  most  of  the  farm-villages  there  is  a  piece  of 
land  divided  up  into  what  are  called  allotments,  and  each 
laborer  can  have  an  allotment  (about  a  rood)  to  cultivate 
for  himself  by  the  j^ayment  of  from  one  dollar  and  a  quarter 
to  two  dollars  and  a  half  a  year.     After  his  work  at  night,  he 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  1 73 

can  devote  his  time  to  this  plot  of  ground ;  and  this  charity 
has  two  objects,  —  to  contribute  to  the  sustenance  of  the 
laborer,  and  to  cultivate  a  spirit  of  industry,  saving  him  from 
the  idleness  and  expense  of  the  public-house.  The  smallest 
of  parishes  has  its  public-house,  with  a  quiet  and  cosey  little 
bar-parlor  and  inviting  pubHcan  (proprietor)  to  wheedle 
the  pennies  and  minutes  from  the  cottager.  We  wish  these 
charities  all  success  ;  but  publicans  and  sinners  are  traditional 
companions. 

The  English  farmer  does  but  little  work  himself,  aside  from 
riding  about,  going  to  market,  and  looking  after  his  stock : 
consequently  the  laborer,  in  the  absence  of  this  stimulating 
example,  is  inclined  to  establish  his  owai  pace.  It  is  not  a 
violently  swift  one.  One  fanner  assured  me  that  his  men 
were  then  getting  to  work  at  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
and  quitting  at  three  in  the  afternoon. 

As  for  the  mechanics,  they  have  still  less  hours,  and  a 
half-day  on  Saturday.  They  don't  appear  to  be  impairing 
their  constitutions  with  hard  work.  Right  opposite  is  a  build- 
ing of  stone,  fifteen  by  twenty-two,  going  up.  The  first  stone 
was  laid  about  five  weeks  ago,  and  three  men  have  been  em- 
ployed on  it  every  day  since.  They  have  got  the  first  floor 
done.  A  Scotch  friend  dr}'ly  observes,  that,  if  English  me- 
chanics had  had  the  supreme  charge  of  the  Tower  of  Babel, 
it  is  quite  probable  there  would  have  been  but  one  language 
to  this  day. 

I  have  had  many  talks  with  these  farm-laborers  about 
America.  They  like  to  converse  upon  that  country ;  but  they 
don't  seem  to  be  itching  all  over  to  go  there.  Several  letters 
from  Englishmen  now  in  the  States  looking  about  for  an  El 
Dorado  have  been  published  in  the  vicinity  papers.  These 
accounts  are  most  discouraging  to  English  emigration,  and 
through  them  breathes  a  fervent  prayer  to  get  back  to  Old 
England. 

An  intelligent-looking  laborer  came  up  to  me  wlaile  I  stood 


174  ENGLAND    FROM    A    DACK-WINDOW, 

at  a  little  station  talking  with  some  friends  and  waiting  for 
the  train,  and  said,  "  Vou  don't  advise  a  laborer  to  go  to 
America,  do  you,  sir?  " 

"  Not  if  he  is  doing  well  here,"  I  answered. 

"That's  the  way  my  brother  Joe  talks,"  he  said.  "  He's 
been  in  America  two  years,  and  he  writes  to  say  that  I  had 
better  stay  in  England  as  long  as  I  can  get  enough  to  do  to 
make  my  bread." 

The  rent  of  a  farm  for  this  section  is  aliout  seven  dollars 
per  acre ;  the  road,  poor  and  church  rates,  and  taxes,  are 
about  five  dollars  more  :  making,  in  all,  twelve  dollars  per 
acre  per  annum.  All  grain  is  here  called  corn,  and  is  sown  in 
drills,  and  hoed  like  potatoes  and  maize,  the  weeds  cut  down, 
and  the  earth  loosened.  I  once  made  an  item  to  the  effect 
that  a  Texas  farmer  was  hoeing  his  buckwheat  for  the  second 
time.  It  was  a  very  good  joke  ;  but  the  English  ])ai)ers  did 
not  copy  it.  The  chief  weeds  with  which  the  English  farmer 
has  to  contend  are  thistles  and  poppies.  There  is  nothing 
remarkable  about  thistles,  unless  you  are  barefooted  ;  but  the 
idea  of  a  poppy  being  a  weed  is  striking  enough.  You  know 
how  choice  we  are  of  them  in  our  gardens  at  home,  and  what 
an  addition  to  a  plot  are  a  half-dozen  of  these  brilliantly- 
flowering  plants.  Try,  then,  to  conjure  up  thousands  of 
them  in  one  enclosure.  They  are  called  "  red  weed  "  in 
England.  They  flourish  principally  in  the  grain-fields,  where 
their  deep  red  contrasts  magnificently  with  the  dark  green 
of  the  wheat  and  barley  and  oats.  I  have  seen  fields  so 
abounding  with  popjiics,  that  they  looked  as  though  they  were 
splotched  with  blood.  I  ha\e  seen  great  beds  of  them  spring- 
ing from  newly-turned  earth  along  the  railways,  and  their 
beauty  I  never  saw  equalled  in  nature.  Surely  Solomon  in 
all  his  glory  was  not  arrayed  like  unto  these  ;  nor  smelt  like 
them,  I  hope. 

Rearing  their  scarlet  heads  among  the  ilnrk-green  grain, 
they  present  a  jiicture  tluit  nuist  touch  every  he:irt,  although 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  1/5 

differently.  I  have  seen  two  men  stand  at  a  fence  on  oppo- 
site sides  of  a  field,  and  gaze  for  a  half-hour  at  the  wonderful 
blending  of  color.  The  one  was  speechless,  his  eyes  glisten- 
ing with  the  most  ex(iuisite  delight :  he  was  a  tourist.  The 
other  was  speechless  also  ;  but  his  eyes  did  not  glisten  :  he 
was  the  owner  of  the  field. 

Rural  England  is  like  rural  America  in  that  it  possesses 
the  same  geological  and  natural  features.  We  lack  the  neat- 
ness and  tidiness  which  centuries  of  teaching  and  practice 
have  established  about  these  rural  homes  and  lands,  and  that 
solidity  which  age  has  impressed  upon  this  country,  and  which 
you  always  notice,  and  never  tire  of.  We  have  the  same 
■  gravel,  with  the  same  qualities  for  removing  skin  from  that 
portion  of  the  human  frame  coming  in  violent  contact  with 
it,  the  same  lumpy  dirt  in  the  gardens,  the  same  trees,  shrubs, 
vegetables,  grain,  and  fruit,  as  do  they.  To  look  over  into 
an  English  garden  is  like  looking  into  an  American  garden. 
Those  products  which  are  not  here,  or  are  here  and  not  at 
home,  are  so  few  as  not  to  be  noticeable  to  the  casual  ob- 
server. 

There  are  cabbages,  and  pea-vines  curling  about  pea-brush 
(the  roots  turning  bilious  at  the  progress  of  the  tops),  and 
lettuce,  and  pie-plant  (under  which  a  rubber  ball  rolls,  and  is 
not  discovered  until  the  season  is  over),  potatoes,  radishes, 
strawberries,  raspberry  and  currant  bushes,  and  fruit-trees. 

The  grass  is  just  the  same  in  blade  as  ours,  and  leaves 
exactly  the  same  tint  on  the  seat  of  a  pair  of  white  Unen  pants, 
—  the  only  greenback  in  circulation  here.  What  we  may 
miss  in  the  view  are  tomatoes  (which  are  hardly  established 
here  as  an  article  of  food),  beans,  and  our  elaborate  squashes. 

There  is  not  a  corn-field  in  all  England.  They  call  our 
corn  maize,  and  use  large  quantities  to  feed  stock,  but  im- 
port it  principally  from  America.  I  have  seen  three  stalks 
of  corn  since  being  in  this  country.  Two  of  them  are  grow- 
ing in  Shakspeare's  garden  at  Stratford,  where   they   share 


iy6  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

with  the  immortal  bard  the  admiration  of  American  visitors  : 
the  other  is  fighting  for  dear  Hfe  in  a  flowef-pot  in  an  Edin- 
burgh hotel.  The  English  weather  is  not  hot  enough  to 
mature  corn.  They  say  they  have  no  frosts  here  until  the 
middle  of  October.  But  they  don't  need  them  before  that : 
the  weather  is  cold  enough  without  them.  It  is  now  the 
middle  of  August,  and  we  have  hovered  over  a  fire  for  the 
last  four  days.  The  fire  is  in  a  grate,  of  course.  The  Eng- 
lish won't  use  stoves,  because  they  like  to  see  tlie  flame,  it  is 
so  cheerful  and  cosey.  Once  in  a  while  I  like  io/eel  it ;  but 
I  carefully  refrain  from  saying  so.  I  have  seen  an  English- 
man sit  shivering  for  an  hour  in  front  of  a  fireplace,  his  face 
lighted  up  with  a  smile.  He  liked  to  see  the  fire,  it  was  so 
cheerful  and  cosey. 

They  don't  have  beans,  either  :  I  mean  the  white  cooking- 
bean.  They  grow  a  yellowish-brown  bean,  —  fields  of  it,  — 
of  the  color  and  nearly  the  shape  of  a  marrowfat  pea. 
This  is  the  only  bean  they  harvest  for  the  winter ;  and  that 
they  grind  up,  and  feed  to  their  stock.  When  I  told  them  of 
our  white  beans,  ripened  in  the  field,  and  cooked  during  the 
winter  and  following  spring  for  the  table,  they  looked  so 
unfriendly,  that  I  dropped  the  subject  at  once.  They  don't 
have  pumpkins,  —  those  great  yellow  fellows,  which  make 
such  grand  pies  and  such  rich  milk.  They  have  a  little  sum- 
mer squash  for  the  table  ;  but  they  know  nothing  of  the  big 
fellows  shown  at  the  American  fairs.  They  wouldn't  eat  dried 
beans  ;  but  they  do  eat  crows.  To  tell  the  truth,  I  have  con- 
cealed one  or  two  crows  about  my  own  person  in  the  past 
month.  It  is  not  the  carrion-crow  :  O  heavens,  no  !  But 
it  is  the  other  crow,  which  lives  in  the  farmhouse  trees,  and 
is  here  called  a  rook.  He  looks  just  like  his  carrion  brother  ; 
and  I  don't  know  how  they  distinguish  them  apart,  unless  it 
is  by  their  breaths.  When  a  man  is  partaking  of  a  crow-pie, 
he  doesn't  want  to  be  incjuisitive.     It  mars  the  festivities. 

Their  standard   fruits   they  cultivate   against   housv'   ;md 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    RACK-WINDOW.  1 77 

fence  walls,  as  their  summer  heat  is  not  sufficiently  continu- 
ous and  powerful  to  ripen  the  fruit  without  the  auxiliary  aid 
of  the  stone  and  brick.  But  there  is  not  much  pleasure  in 
seeing  a  tree  nailed  up  to  a  wall  like  a  grape-vine.  In  such 
a  position  it  looks  more  like  a  criminal  than  a  friend  of  man. 

The  English  use  heavy  horses,  and  they  are  required  for 
the  work.  I  have  told  you  how  heavy  and  substantial  are 
the  English  carriages ;  but  they  are  half  worn-out  gossamer 
alongside  of  the  English  farm-carts.  Their  carts  measure 
four  feet  around  the  hub,  and  the  rest  in  proportion.  A 
farm-wagon  weighs  a  full  ton,  and  will  carry  a  weight  nearly 
.four  times  as  great.  This  huge  mass  is  propelled  by  from 
three  to  four  horses,  rarely  four,  driven  tandem.  I  have 
not  yet  seen  a  load  of  farm-stuff  drawn  by  horses  abreast. 
Why,  with  their  splendid  roads  and  small  farms,  they  should 
deem  it  necessary  to  have  such  monstrous  carts  and  wagons, 
can  only  be  explained  by  the  fact  that  their  forefathers  did 
so  ;  and  their  forefathers  are  safer  to  copy  after  than  their 
American  cousins.  I  believe  I  spoke  in  one  of  my  London 
letters  of  the  great  number  of  little  ponies  in  that  city. 
They  are  plenty  all  over  the  country.  They  were  suddenly 
introduced  into  England  many  years  ago,  when  a  tax  was 
levied  on  every  horse  of  twelve  hands  in  height  or  over. 
We  are  descended  from  the  English. 

The  people  near  the  common  in  West  Winch  have  a  lane 
which  scoops  around  in  the  shape  of  a  crescent,  taking  in  the 
main  road  above  and  below  the  church.  They  call  it  a  lane. 
It  is  about  thirty  feet  broad,  has  a  good  road  and  a  perfect 
sidewalk,  with  a  four-feet  hedge  of  hawthorn  on  each  side. 
This  hedge  was  in  blossom  when  I  was  there,  and,  besides 
being  additionally  beautiful  for  this  reason,  was  also  pleas- 
antly fragrant.  These  complete  sidewalks  along  country 
roads  are  common  in  England.  There  is  a  road  in  Derby- 
shire, running  between  two  towns,  which  for  a  mile  has  as 
good  a  sidewalk  as  you  will  find  in  any  American  town  of 


1/8  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

fifteen  thousand  inhabitants.  Part  of  it  is  of  fine  gravel, 
another  p;\rt  is  of  concrete,  and  the  third  and  greater  portion 
is  of  flagging ;  and  along  the  whole  is  a  curbing  of  granite. 
The  villages  which  it  connects  cannot  boast  unitedly  a  popula- 
tion of  three  thousand.  It  is  a  delight  to  walk  along  these 
roads  and  lanes,  with  low-browed  public-houses  at  convenient 
distances,  with  beautiful  fields,  and  comfortable  farmhouses, 
and  flowering  gardens,  and  ponderous  windmills,  on  the 
right  and  left,  with  goods  vans,  and  gayly-painted  g}'psy- 
wagons,  and  heavy,  substantial  farmer  and  gentry  traps,  and 
respectful  and  civil  laboring-men  meeting  you  every  little 
while.  I  have  passed  many  an  hour  in  this  pleasant  and 
healthful  recreation.  The  English  themselves  are  great  walk- 
ers. I  have  seen  fashionable  young  ladies  walk  to  and  from 
church,  four  miles  distant,  and  not  brag  of  it,  either. 

All  the  farmhouses  about  West  Winch  have  ivy  growing 
over  them.  It  is  very  beautiful  indeed,  and  is  generally 
accompanied  with  dampness  and  red  lice.  The  gardens  and 
roadways  abound  with  holly,  which,  with  its  red  berry,  forms 
an  inspiring  addition  to  the  winter  social  gatherings.  Like 
the  hedges  and  some  other  shrubs,  it  remains  green  and 
bright  through  the  winter,  and  robs  that  season  of  many  of 
the  disagreeable  features  which  we  New-Englanders  are 
obliged  to  put  up  with.  They  have  no  such  snows  as  we  do  ; 
no  such  frosts  as  occasionally  dip  down  two  and  even  three 
feet  into  the  New-England  soil,  slaughtering  the  most  hardy 
of  wintering  plants.  But  we  have  got  the  best  of  them  in 
two  particulars.  Our  days  are  a  trifle  longer  than  theirs  in 
the  winter ;  and  we  have  autumnal  tints  and  an  Indian  sum- 
mer, and  they  have  neither.  The  leaves  to  their  trees  sim- 
ply bleed  to  death  before  the  frost  reaches  the  sap,  become 
an  ashy  hue,  and  drop  unnoticed  and  uncared  for. 

The  favorite  trap  in  the  country  is  a  two-wheeler.  There 
are  two  kinds.  One  is  a  car  capable  of  holding  four,  two  on 
each  side,  with  their  knees  together,  and  their  eyes  turneil 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  179 

to  the  hedges :  the  other  holds  four  also,  two  on  the  front- 
seat  and  two  on  the  back-seat,  each  pair  facing  in  opposite 
directions,  with  the  backs  of  their  heads  together.  When 
you  get  in  at  the  back  of  the  car,  the  thills  bob  up  to  the 
animal's  back,  and  make  )ou  nervous,  through  fear  that  the 
under  band  will  cut  the  animal  in  two.  The  other  trap  jolts 
your  bowels  out  of  position  on  the  front ;  and,  if  you  are  on 
the  back-seat,  all  pleasure  of  the  ride  is  lost  in  desperate  and 
almost  maddening  endeavors  to  keep  from  falling  into  the 
road.  A  two-hours'  ride  on  the  back-seat  of  one  of  those 
two-wheeled  traps  will  sprinkle  the  youngest  head  with  gray 
hairs. 

I  have  not  yet  seen  a  yoke  of  oxen.  The  English  do  not 
know  what  they  miss  by  not  having  oxen.  A  country  must 
in  time  become  low-spirited  and  depressed  that  does  not 
have  oxen  to  stir  it  up.  They  are  like  the  wind,  are  oxen. 
One  yoke  of  them  will  get  over  more  ground  in  one  hour 
than  a  barrel  of  oysters  will  in  a  day.  Give  me  an  ox  for 
speed. 

There  are  no  tin  peddlers  here  to  cheat  and  swindle,  and 
leave  the  doors  open.  There  is  but  little  tin  used  anyway. 
In  the  dairy  they  use  great  earthen  dishes  for  the  milk,  and 
a  servant-girl  has  to  drop  one  of  them  pretty  hard  to  break 
it ;  but,  as  servant-girls  rarely  get  over  twenty-five  dollars 
per  annum,  their  mind  naturally  runs  into  other  channels 
than  breaking  dishes. 

Sheep  are  an  important  stock  with  English  farmers.  The 
English  people  are  fond  of  mutton  as  an  article  of  food,  and 
have  it  quite  steadily.  When  they  tire  of  mutton,  they  have 
lamb.  Beef  they  never  neglect.  They  are  the  most  docile 
and  uncomplaining  of  people  when  beef  is  around.  Their 
sheep  are  the  best  in  the  world,  I  believe.  You  have  seen 
pictures  of  shepherds  with  the  proverbial  crook  in  their 
hands?  I  didn't  think  a  party  could  be  a  shepherd  without 
this  crook,  any  more  than  a  man  could  be  the  leader  of  an 


l80  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

orchestra  without  a  pair  of  pants.  I  wxs  glad  tliat  the  first 
man  whom  I  saw  tending  sheep  carried  one  of  these  crooks. 
I  didn't  know  what  a  crook  was  for,  but  always  believed  it 
was  a  badge  of  the  occupation,  whose  origin  I  could  not 
fothom,  handed  down  from  century  to  century  since  the  time 
when  sheep  were  invented.  Imagine  my  genuine  disgust 
when  I  saw  this  shepherd  use  the  sacred  crook  to  capture 
the  straying  animals  by  catching  hold  of  one  of  their  hind- 
legs  and  tripping  them  up  !  The  awful  truth  came  upon  me 
like  a  flash  ;  and  I  sat  down  heavily,  a  broken-hearted  man. 
I  had  thought  it  a  beautiful  emblem,  and  it  proves  to  be  a 
hind-leg  snatcher  ! 

Thus  floated  the  wind  from  another  sweet  vision  of  youth. 

I  don't  hardly  understand  how  an  Englishman  should  look 
so  hearty  and  rugged.  He  is  not  a  hearty  eater :  he  will 
"stuff"  his  guests,  however.  His  breakfast  is  light,  con- 
sisting of  a  small  bit  of  bacon  and  an  egg.  At  one  o'clock 
he  has  the  regular  dinner  of  roast  meat  and  boiled  cauliflower. 
At  five  o'clock  he  partakes  of  thinly-cut  bread  and  a  cup 
of  tea.  At  nine  o'clock  he  has  a  small  bit  of  meat,  and 
bread  without  butter,  and  a  glass  of  ale.  After  supper  he 
takes  a  glass  of  gin  and  hot  water,  smokes  a  pipe,  and  goes 
to  bed  at  peace  with  everybody.  It  is  a  quiet  enough 
life ;  for  he  don't  even  have  a  nightmare  to  end  up  with. 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  l8l 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

A  GENERAL  ATTACK   ON   RUINS, 

TO  be  truthful,  my  secret  longing  in  coming  to  Europe 
was  to  see  a  ruin.  There  is  enough  of  romance  about 
me  to  clothe  a  ruin,  whether  of  church  or  of  castle,  with  all 
the  glory  of  chivalry.  I  hankered  to  get  into  a  castle,  to 
throw  stones  into  the  neglected  moat,  to  hear  my  footsteps 
echo  in  the  vacant  corridors,  to  stand  and  meditate  in  the 
banqueting-rooms,  to  stride  through  the  lofty  halls,  and  walk 
languidly  up  the  grand  but  crumbling  staircase.  All  the 
fictions  of  English  and  French  origin  have  one  or  more  ruins 
in  them ;  and,  looking  upon  them  as  the  only  remaining 
remnants  of  that  grand  and  glorious  past,  they  became 
endeared  to  me ;  and  I  thought,  from  a  boy  up,  that,  if  I 
could  but  go  to  Europe  and  see  a  ruined  castle,  I  would  be 
willing  to  give  up  my  life  and  all  its  pleasures.  I  have  seen 
the  ruin  ;  but  the  willingness  spoken  of  has  not  yet  got  along. 
As  much  in  fiction  accepted  as  gospel  is  dispersed  by  the 
more  thorough  and  realistic  light  of  matured  age,  so  I  came 
to  suspect  that  the  mossy  castles  crumbling  into  ruins,  and 
ancestral  halls  filled  with  secret  passages,  gloomy  vaults, 
barracks  for  soldiers,  and  a  host  of  dra\ving-rooms,  and  a 
gorgeous  picture-gallery,  were  simply  myths.  In  the  first 
place,  I  came  to  doubt  that  a  private  building  could  be 
large  enough  to  accommodate  all  these  apartments  and 
demands ;  and,  when  they  spoke  of  a  long  galler)'  whose  walls 


1 82  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

were  filled  with  paintings,  I  staggered,  reeled  about,  and 
went  down  before  the  statement  in  utter  collapse.  For, 
please  remember,  the.  time  of  such  galleries  was  before 
"  The  New-Vork  Independent "  fell  into  the  habit  of  giving 
away  elegant  and  costly  chromos,  and  no  man  of  ordinary 
wealth  could  afford  to  stock  one  of  them  with  oil-paintings. 

We  don't  have  ruins  in  our  country.  When  a  building 
gets  old,  and  begins  to  leak,  the  tenants  swear  they  won't 
pay  the  rent,  and  are  moved  out,  and  the  glass  is  stoned 
from  the  windows  by  the  neighboring  boys,  and  the  house  is 
pulled  down,  and  the  timber  sold  to  some  poor  man,  whose 
boy  saws  it  up  into  firewood,  and  uses  the  most  dreadful 
language  when  his  saw  strikes  a  nail.  Ruins  are  an  injury  to 
our  country,  I  think.  I  could  not  understand,  until  I  got 
here,  why  ruins  should  exist  in  active,  enterprising,  and 
crowded  England  :  I  could  not  understand  why  they  were 
allowed  to  cumber  valuable  ground  to  the  exclusion  of  valua- 
ble rentable  buildings.  It  was  so  contrary  to  the  spirit  of 
gain  displayed  in  America,  that  I  could  not  comprehend  it. 

And  all  these  romances  spoke  of  castles  inhabited  in  part, 
and  ruined  in  the  balance,  or  of  halls  mossy  with  age,  but 
never  spoke  of  a  new  castle,  of  one  being  in  the  process 
of  construction.  In  the  dead  of  night  I  have  frequently 
awoke  to  wonder  if  castles  and  old  halls  were  ever  built. 
Rather,  were  they  not  created  with  the  world,  and  by  the 
same  mysterious  force  ?  If  they  were  built  by  human  hands, 
who  did  it?  Did  the  contractor  do  it  by  the  day,  or  job? 
If  by  the  latter,  did  he  lose  money?  Did  the  workmen 
carry  their  dinners?  Did  they  steal  apples  from  the  neigh- 
boring orchards?  Did  their  boys  have  to  carry  them  hot 
coffee  after  coming  out  of  school  at  noon?  Were  they  in 
favor  of  the  eight-hour  system?  Did  they  have  processions 
on  St.  Patrick's  Day?  Did  they  get  in  debt?  For  Heaven's 
sake,  who  were  they?  what  were  they?  The  mystery  shroud- 
ing these  men  —  their  needs,  hopes,  aspirations,  loves,  sym- 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  1 83 

pathies,  and  every  thing  else  calculated  to  establish  their 
humanit}',  and  give  them  a  tangible  shape  in  the  practical 
eyes  of  this  age  —  is  perfectly  dreadful. 

Ruins  are  scattered  all  over  T^ngland,  and  it  is  a  very  poor 
county  indeed  that  hasn't  a  half-dozen  of  them ;  and  these 
ruins  are  not  scattered  through  the  country  portion  of  Eng- 
land alone,  but  can  be  found  in  the  very  heart  of  the  cities, 
with  the  waves  of  unceasing  traffic  beating  against  their  very 
walls. 

There  are  two  theories  in  accounting  for  the  presence  of 
ruins  in  Europe.  The  first  is  a  reverential  sentiment,  which 
is  opposed  to  desecrating  what  age  has  sanctified ;  and  the 
second  —  perhaps  less  sentimental,  but  none  the  less  effec- 
tive —  is  the  enormous  strength  of  the  walls.  An  attempt  was 
made  to  quarry  stone  for  a  bridge  out  of  Rochester  Castle  ; 
but,  after  working  several  weeks  to  secure  a  couple  of  cart- 
loads of  material,  the  projectors  of  the  idea  retired  in  despair. 
These  ruins  are  not  all  sightly,  of  course ;  some  of  them, 
from  an  architectural  or  ornamental  stand-point,  are  very 
insignificant :  but  they  all  are  alike  hallowed  by  time,  and 
so  are  alike  valuable.  The  owners  are  jealous  of  them. 
They  treat  them  with  great  tenderness.  We  in  America  do 
not  understand  this,  no  more  than  does  a  woman  who  has 
no  silk  dress  understand  what  people  find  to  admire  in  the 
silk  dress  belonging  to  the  woman  next  door.  In  a  Scotch 
town  there  are  the  four  walls  of  an  old  church  standing  in  a 
man's  front-yard.  It  shuts  out  completely  his  view  of  the 
street.  But  he  wouldn't  exchange  those  crumbling  walls  for 
a  five-thousand-dollar  fountain.  Why  not?  Simply  because 
there  are  scores  of  families  in  his  town  who  could  get  a  five- 
thousand-dollar  fountain  ;  but  all  the  wealth  on  the  earth, 
or  in  the  waters  beneath  the  earth,  could  not  put  a  ruin  in 
their  front-yards.  So  he  sits  back  of  those  walls,  and  is 
happy  to  a  degree  that  is  simply  exasperating  to  outsiders. 

The  walls  to  these  ruins  are  formed  of  just  such  material 


184  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

as  we  build  cellar-walls,  and  many  of  them  look  like  the  four 
walls  of  a  cellar  thrown  to  the  surface  by  some  convulsion  of 
nature.  I  had  an  idea  that  castles  were  built  of  huge,  evenly- 
squared  blocks  of  granite,  with  marble  floors.  But  they  are 
of  just  such  composition  as  I  mention  ;  and  how  the  builders 
ever  succeeded  in  getting  them  up  straight  is  something  I 
cannot  understand.  The  floors  are  not  of  marble,  but  of 
concrete.  Where  they  are  not  of  concrete,  they  are  flagging ; 
and,  in  the  days  when  they  were  in  their  prime,  rheumatism 
must  have  been  in  the  heyday  of  its  career. 

The  ground-floors  to  many  of  the  houses  now  occupied 
are  of  stone  ;  but  it  is  not  so  bad  as  oil-cloth. 

The  cement  in  the  walls  of  the  various  ruins  excites  the 
attention  of-  many  people.  They  say  it  is  impossible  to  make 
as  firm  mortar  in  these  days.  It  is  hard,  —  harder  than  losing 
an  eight-hundrcd-dollar  horse.  I  have  nothing  to  say  against 
the  cuteness  of  the  ancients,  except  in  the  matter  of  archi- 
tecture and  painting.  I  cannot  forget  that  several-hundred- 
year-old  revolver  and  breech-loader  which  I  saw  in  the  Tower 
of  London.  The  ancients  did  many  things  which  we  are  just 
discovering  and  proclaiming  as  our  own  invention,  and  I 
do  not  doubt  that  it  will  yet  be  found  that  they  had  shirts 
opening  behind.     But  let  us  not  anticipate. 

But  it  is  interesting  to  speculate  on  the  origin  of  ruins. 
What  puzzled  me,  when  I  heard  of  ruins  afar  off",  was  to 
understand  how  they  became  so.  In  what  year,  and  what 
day,  at  what  hour  of  the  day,  did  they  throw  off"  the  respecta- 
ble yoke  of  usefulness,  and  sink  into  architectural  loaferism? 
For  several  hundred  years  these  castles  have  been  loafers,  — 
corner-loafers  at  that.  And  why  ?  Well,  in  the  first  place, 
they  were  built  when  protection  against  foes  was  as  essential 
as  protection  against  weather.  They  were  not  ornamental, 
had  no  bay-windows,  and  were  French-roofless.  When  civili- 
zation so  far  advanced  that  every  man  was  made  safe  in  his 
possessions,  and   law  usurped  violence,  the   occupation  of 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  1 85 

the  building,  its  specialty,  was  done  away  with.  It  became 
a  loafer.  In  some  instances,  as  in  that  of  Warwick  Castle 
particularly,  they  were  modernized  and  improved  upon,  and 
are  to-day  in  business,  and  doing  well.  But  in  most  cases 
they  were  deserted  for  more  comfortable  dwellings  ;  and,  being 
too  strongly  built  to  be  taken  apart  with  economy,  their  walls 
were  left.  As  for  the  wood- work,  it  was  -wrenched  out  for 
fuel ;  and  as  for  the  window-glass,  where  one  could  boast 
such  a  luxury,  it  was  undoubtedly  stoned  out  by  the  neighbor- 
ing boys  on  Saturday  afternoons.  As  to  why  the  wood-work 
was  not  carefully  removed,  and  used  in  parts  of  the  new 
structure,  I  would  mention  that  it  was  mostly  of  oak,  and 
most  respectfully  refer  you  for  full  information  to  some  car- 
penter who  has  taken  down  an  old  oaken  building,  and  under- 
taken to  re-use  the  material.  Anybody  who  has  attempted 
to  drive  a  cast-iron  nail  into  a  venerable  oak  board  will  be 
pleased  to  give  you  any  information  you  may  desire,  if  he 
is  alive. 

Sometimes  the  occupants  were  forced  to  skedaddle  from 
the  country,  leaving  the  house  tenantless  ;  and,  the  carpets  of 
the  victor  not  fitting  the  rooms  of  the  deserted  place,  his 
wife  would  not  consent  to  moving  in  :  so  the  place  was  left 
to  the  tender  mercies  of  poor  and  predatory  neighbors. 

It  is  easy  enough  to  account  for  things  when  you  sit  right 
down  and  give  your  whole  attention  to  them,  as  I  do. 

There  are  the  lofty  tower  and  arches  of  a  Gray-Friars 
monastery  betAveen  two  busy  streets  in  Lynn.  It  rears  its 
old  and  scarred  figure  as  if  in  defiance  of  trade  and  all  mod- 
em improvements.  An  iron  fence  surrounds  it,  with  a  locked 
gate  ;  and  application  must  be  made  to  the  proprietor  of  the 
grammar-school  opposite  for  permission  to  go  inside  and 
feel  of  the  arches,  climb  up  the  hundred  and  sixty  steps 
which  lead  to  the  top,  and  get  your  back  full  of  sacred  mor- 
tar and  dust.  The  proprietor  of  that  school  is  also  the  pro- 
prietor of  the  bit  of  ground  on  wliich  this  ruined  monastery 


1 86  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

stands ;  and  he  would  as  soon  think  of  digging  up  his  wife's 
mother,  and  putting  her  in  a  glass  case  on  the  front  mantel, 
as  pulling  down  this  crazy  structure. 

About  three  miles  from  Lynn  is  a  little  hamlet  called 
Castle  Rising.  It  consists  of  a  blacksmith-shop,  an  inn,  a 
church,  hall,  and  an  almshouse,  with  about  twenty  dwellings. 

The  hall  is  the  residence  of  Lady  Howard,  a  woman  as 
religious  as  she  is  old.  She  owns  all  of  the  village,  and  a 
good  share  of  property  about  it.  It  seems,  to  look  down  on 
Rising,  that  you  could  cover  it  with  a  farmer's  Sunday  hand- 
kerchief, so  small  it  is ;  but  there  was  a  time  when  it  had  a 
mayor  and  alderman,  an  annual  mart  (which  continued  two 
weeks),  and  a  weekly  market  of  great  importance. 

Among  Lady  Howard's  possessions  is  a  considerable  ruin 
of  a  castle.  It  sits  in  a  basin  on  the  top  of  a  rising  piece  of 
ground.  Its  walls  are  standing,  and  several  rooms  in  one 
part  of  it  are  inhabited :  but  the  main  roof  is  gone ;  the 
greater  part  of  the  windows  are  frameless ;  the  beams  and 
the  flooring  of  the  main  rooms  are  gone  ;  and  bushes  three 
feet  high  are  growing  luxuriantly  up  the  broken  and  ragged 
surface  of  the  walls.  There  is  a  great  moat  about  it  now, 
filled  with  trees  thirty  feet  high  ;  a  broken  stone  arch  bridge 
leading  across  to  the  gate  which  guarded  the  entrance  to 
the  outside  court,  but  now  is  crumbling,  and  dropping  piece- 
meal upon  the  head  of  some  pleasure-seeker.  In  this  out- 
side court  is  also  the  base  wall  of  a  chapel,  which  the  people 
hereabouts  readily  ascribe  to  the  advent  of  Christianity  in 
England  twelve  hundred  years  ago.  They  seem  to  be  enjoy- 
ing better  health  than  I  do. 

There  is  a  broad  green  outside,  where  people  engage  in 
cricket ;  and  the  neighborhood,  including  the  castle,  is  used 
by  picnickers  for  a  day  of  recreation.  They  don't  build  fires 
outdoors,  and  cook  their  tea,  as  we  do  in  America :  wood  is 
too  scarce  here  for  that  j^urpose.  In  the  neighborhood  of 
resorts  for  picnicking  parties,  you  will  sec  on  tlic  walls  of 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  1 8/ 

adjoining  cottages  such  notices  as  these  :  "  Hot  water  for 
tea,"  "Tea  cooked  here,"  "  Parties  supplied  with  hot  water." 

At  the  Black  Horse  in  Rising,  picnickers  may  boil  their 
tea ;  but  their  favorite  place  is  the  inhabitable  part  of  the 
castle,  where  a  family  reside. 

The  family  consists  of  a  man,  wife,  and  two  young  chil- 
dren. The  man  is  a  vagabond  policeman.  I  don't  mean  to 
say  that  that  is  the  name  he  goes  by  here ;  but  I  call  him  so 
from  the  fact  that  he  has  a  beat  for  some  distance  in  the 
country,  and  is  always  moving.  Only  his  uniform  saves  him 
from  being  a  tramp.  He  dresses  Hke  the  city  police,  with 
the  exception  that  he  wears  a  fatigue-cap  instead  of  a  helmet. 
You  will  find  him,  or  his  prototype,  along  almost  every  coun- 
try road  in  England.  They  are  called  "  walking  police," 
to  distinguish  them,  I  presume,  from  the  city  police,  who 
habitually  go  about  in  a  golden  chariot,  with  sixteen  horses 
and  nine  footmen  apiece.  He  was  off  duty  when  L  was  there, 
and  sang  "God  save  the  Queen,"  but  irreparably  damaged 
the  petition  with  an  accompaniment  on  a  violin. 

He  was  a  large,  burly  man,  and  his  wife  a  young,  frail- 
looking  woman ;  and  the  children  looked  as  if  they  had  just 
been  dug  up  from  the  neighboring  churchyard  for  the  occa- 
sion. They  were  poor  and  helpless,  and,  if  they  were  not 
the  occupants  of  a  castle,  would  have  probably  made  away 
with  themselves  ere  this.  They  occupy  this  part  of  the 
castle,  rent  free,  by  permission  of  Lady  Howard,  for  the 
caring  of  it,  and,  when  not  indulging  in  historical  emotions, 
are  boiling  tea  for  picnickers. 

Then  there  is  a  church  a  mile  or  so  below,  the  chancel  of 
which  is  in  ruins,  and  overgrown  with  ivy  ;  but  the  congrega- 
tion have  stoned  up  the  gap,  and  worship  in  the  main  part 
with  becoming  sanctity.  They  would  make  it  very  warm  for 
anybody  who  would  dare  to  carry  away  any  of  the  broken 
stones.  About  two  miles  in  an  opposite  direction  from  the 
castle  is  the  ruin  of  a  church,  —  Bawsley  Church  it  is  called  ; 


1 88  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

and  if  four  stumpy  bleak  walls,  with  not  even  a  bit  of 
floor  or  an  inch  of  stone  window-casing  about  it,  can  be 
called  a  church,  this  is  certainly  one.  It  is  on  a  rise  of 
ground  in  the  middle  of  a  sheep-pasture,  with  nothing  more 
dignified  than  a  cart-path  approaching.  ^Vhere  was  its  floor 
is  now  a  mass  of  broken  stone,  and  evidences  of  the  sheep 
being  well  fed.  Several  hundred  years  ago  it  had  prayers, 
and  music,  weddings,  christenings,  &c.  But  the  people  who 
did  those  things  have  fared  worse  than  the  church ;  for  there 
is  not  a  crumb  of  them  left,  nor  even  a  morsel  of  the  stones 
which  marked  their  burial. 

Little  boys  pinched  each  other's  legs,  and  put  sharp  sticks 
down  each  other's  backs,  and  made  faces  at  the  little  girls, 
and  lads  and  maidens  have  flirted,  and  aged  and  experienced 
men  and  women  have  enjoyed  Nature's  balmy  restorer,  on 
this  spot.  But  they  are  all  gone  now ;  and,  if  they  could 
return  to-day,  they  would  recognize  nothing  about  here  ex- 
cept this  church,  and  hardly  that.  The  forests  and  hedges, 
and  buildings  and  customs,  of  their  time,  have  flitted  away, 
to  come  no  more.  Even  the  face  of  the  earth  has  changed 
since  then ;  and  unless  they  saw  my  fair  conductor,  who 
wore  a  bustle  and  a  pair  of  high-heeled  shoes,  they  would 
move  away  with  more  disappointment  than  they  had  capacity 
for,  I  am  afraid. 

But  I  am  losing  the  thread  of  my  discourse.  This  decay- 
ing fabric  belongs  to  the  farmer  who  owns  the  sheep-pasture. 
It  is  useless  to  him,  and  hardly  affords  shade  for  his  sheep ; 
but  he  will  not  touch  it.  He  has  the  same  feelings  which 
Lady  Howard  and  the  proprietor  of  the  grammar-school 
share  with  each  other.  And  the  same  sentiment  pervades 
all  England.  It  is  this,  I  suspect,  which  accounts  for  the 
peojjle  of  this  country  taking  every  thing  valuable  in  the  way 
of  sculpture  out  of  Egypt  and  putting  it  in  the  British  Muse- 
um, fearing  unprincipled  vandals  would  steal  it  ami  carry  it 
away. 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  1 89 

But  to  come  back  to  the  castle.  The  inhabitable  portion 
is  in  one  comer,  on  the  second  floor  above  the  ground.  It 
is  reached  by  a  broad  stairway  of  stone,  —  a  rather  imposing 
stairway  too.  The  castle  was  used  as  a  place  of  fortification 
in  the  feudal  days,  when  the  only  law  in  operation  appeared 
to  be  that  of  might,  and  when  the  stronger  of  two  neighbor- 
ing barons  could,  and  frequently  did,  wrest  away  the  other's 
property.  To  the  tenants  it  made  but  little  difference,  I 
suspect,  to  whom  they  paid  their  rents.  Half  way  up  the 
staircase  is  an  opening  in  the  ceiling,  through  which  the 
besieged,  when  the  enemy  gained  the  stairway,  poured  hot 
oil  and  molten  lead  on  the  besiegers.  When  a  man  got  a 
quart  of  molten  lead  down  his  back  he  left  at  once,  and 
rarely  called  again  for  the  hot  oil.  It  is  a  trifling  incident ; 
but  it  shows  that  the  people  of  those  days  were  not  wholly 
grasping  and  avaricious,  as  history  would  have  us  believe. 

At  the  top  of  the  stainvay  we  came  upon  an  open  door, 
and  passed  into  a  unique  apartment.  It  was  an  irregular- 
shaped  room  of  about  fifteen  square  feet,  with  monstrous 
deep  recesses  to  the  little  window ;  but  it  was  the  singular 
blending  of  the  modern  and  ancient  furniture  that  excited 
the  attention.  It  was  the  cooking  and  dining  room  of  the 
family.  A  huge  fireplace  was  at  one  end  of  the  apartment, 
and  about  it  were  the  andirons  and  utensils  for  the  prepara- 
tion of  the  humble  repast.  A  table  in  the  centre,  with  ven- 
erable legs  in  rich  carving,  was  covered  with  crumbs,  and 
here  and  there  a  ring  on  its  surface  about  the  size  of  a  tum- 
bler or  tankard.  At  the  side  were  two  highly-carved  and 
remarkably  straight-backed  chairs.  They  were  handsome 
enough ;  but  no  mortal  could  sit  in  one  of  them,  and  feel 
pleasant  toward  his  neighbors.  I  do  not  wonder  now  that 
our  ancestors  were  so  prone  to  blood,  and  suffered  death  so 
satisfactorily.  Any  man  who  sat  in  one  of  those  chairs  for 
thirty  years  must  have  found  death  at  the  stake  or  block  a 
positive  luxury. 


IQO  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

There  was  also  an  enormous  chest  with  quaint  but  grace- 
fully executed  devices  in  oak,  and  bound  about  with  brass. 
It  looked  arrogant  and  defiant  enough  as  it  sat  there  in  the 
corner ;  but  the  baggage-master  of  the  shortest  and  poorest 
railway  in  America  would  take  the  conceit  out  of  it  inside  of 
two  minutes.  The  chest  was  about  half  full  of  relics  preser\'ed 
from  the  castle.  About  the  room  were  baby-clothes  under- 
going the  process  of  drying,  and  exuding  a  delicate  odor. 
On  the  right  of  the  fireplace  was  a  stair-passage  leading  to  a 
large  room  above.  It  was  not  a  remarkable  apartment,  with 
its  bare  walls  of  stone,  warped  oaken  floor,  and  narrow,  dingy 
window.  It  was  the  bedroom  of  Isabella,  the  queen  of  Ed- 
ward the  Second,  who  was  sent  here  by  her  husband  on  the 
discovery  of  her  amour  with  a  young  chap  named  Mortimer. 
The  young  chap  supplemented  the  loss  of  his  heart  with  the 
loss  of  his  head.  She  lived  here  many  years  after  the  death 
of  her  husband,  and  died  here,  in  fact. 

We  crawled  up  a  circular  staircase  to  the  top  of  the  walls, 
and  I  stood  out  on  the  ragged  summit  and  looked  down. 
One  brief  glance  sufficed  me.  We  returned  to  the  head  of 
the  main  staircase,  and,  crawling  through  a  narrow  passage, 
came  into  a  corridor  which  went  entirely  around  the  four 
sides  of  the  main  building.  Its  floor  was  on  a  level  with  the 
banqueting-hall ;  but  there  is  no  banqueting-hall  here  now, — 
nothing  but  the  open  air.  The  musicians  were  stationed  in 
this  corridor,  and  performed  during  the  feasts. 

There  was  no  end  of  revelry  in  these  walls  centuries  ago. 
Wax  tapers  lighted  them  uj),  and  made  glorious  the  satins, 
the  jewels,  and  bright  eyes  of  the  hosts  which  have  come  and 
gone  since  the  castle  was  reared.  There  is  a  depressing 
silence  about  the  place,  broken  only  by  the  twittering  of 
sparrows,  and  the  swaying  of  the  weeds  and  nettles  which 
spring  from  the  ruins ;  and  it  seems  a  mockery  to  try  to 
restore,  even  in  the  imagination,  the  gayety  and  pleasure 
which  once  peopled  it  all. 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  IQI 

And  a  vagabond  policeman  \vith  a  slovenly  wife  boiling 
tea,  and  playing  "  God  save  the  Queen  "  on  a  debilitated 
violin,  is  the  end  of  it  all,  the  humiliating  finis  of  a  glorious 
career. 

The  castle,  like  many  other  ruins  I  have  seen,  is  formed 
of  a  curious  mixture  of  stone  chips,  cobbles,  and  brick,  the 
walls  not  plastered  inside.  How  their  ugliness  was  hid 
I  do  not  know.  Perhaps  it  was  not  concealed  at  all,  but 
was  just  as  we  now  find  it.  In  such  a  case  there  must 
have  been  trouble.  Imagine  young  Lord  de  Rowbeer,  whose 
father  recently  came  over  with  the  Conqueror,  dancing  a  set 
with  a  bewitching  partner.  In  the  excitement  of  the  dance 
he  is  struck  against  by  Baron  Ovonner,  also  recently  from 
Normandy,  and  sent  spinning  against  the  nutmeg-grater 
wall.  You  will  have  no  trouble  in  imagining  him  getting  on 
his  feet  in  a  way  to  conceal  the  damage  to  his  pants,  and 
with  the  blood  trickling  down  his  face,  his  sword  drawn,  and 
shaking  with  passion,  inviting  the  baron  to  step  out  into  the 
back-yard  and  get  "  nailed  "  between  the  eyes.  "With  equal 
ease  we  can  imagine  the  baron,  later  in  the  night,  awakened 
from  a  sound,  virtuous  sleep  by  a  lump  of  concrete  falling 
from  the  wall  of  his  bed-chamber,  and  striking  him  on  the 
nose.     We  wiU  not  pause  to  listen  to  his  remarks. 


192  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 


CHAPTER    XXII. 


ENGLISH   CHARITY. 


CASTLE  RISING  is  infinitesimally  small;  but  it  illus- 
trates a  peculiar  feature  of  English  villages.  It  is  com- 
pact, orderly,  and  clean.  There  are  no  broken-down  fences, 
strolling  cattle  in  the  road,  yards  filled  with  plantain  and 
smartweed,  nor  chips  and  debris  in  front  of  the  houses. 
There  is  not  even  a  single  gate  on  one  hinge.  However 
poor  an  English  hamlet  may  be,  there  is  about  it  a  compact- 
ness and  neatness  which  strike  the  attention  at  once.  The 
houses  are  plain  and  unattractive  ;  but  the  gardens  are  filled 
with  healthy  vegetables,  and  clean  grass  and  bright  flowers. 
There  are  well-defined  sidewalks,  and  a  smooth,  hard  turn- 
pike. Even  the  harshness  of  the  castle-walls  is  toned  dowTi 
by  the  unbroken  sea  of  grass  about  it.  The  Black  Horse  is 
a  quaint  old  inn,  attended  by  a  woman,  with  a  tiny  bar,  and 
a  bar  parlor  with  two  tables,  a  bench  all  around  the  room, 
and  a  sanded  floor.  The  neighbors  gather  here  of  an  even- 
ing, and  sip  their  ale,  and  smoke  long  clay  pipes,  and  talk 
al)out  the  crops  and  the  humble  matters  of  such  a  neigh- 
borhood. The  inn  is  shaded  by  a  huge  tree  ;  and  there  are 
two  which  meet  together  over  the  red  tile  roof  of  the  black- 
si-rtith-shop,  which  is  a  few  yards  beyond.  The  blacksmith- 
shop  is  of  stone,  of  course,  as  all  the  other  buildings  are. 
A  few  months  ago,  if  any  one  had  told  me  that  blacksmith- 
shops  could  have  been  made  of  stone,  I  would  have  laughed 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  1 93 

at  him.  How  could  they  build  of  that  material  so  as  to  leave 
an  opening,  every  ten  inches,  of  an  inch  in  width,  for  the 
wind  and  snow  to  come  through  ?  Now  that  we  have  got 
into  the  subject,  I  should  really  like  to  know  what  chance 
for  success  a  village  blacksmith-shop  would  have  in  America 
in  which  the  customer  could  not  freeze  both  of  his  legs. 
Just  around  the  blacksmith-shop  of  Castle  Rising  runs  a 
road  down  by  the  church,  —  a  hard,  smooth  road,  with  a 
pretty  sidewalk.  Opposite  the  church  is  a  building  setting 
a  little  below  the  street-level,  having  sharp  gables  and  a 
number  of  them,  and  a  substantial  stone  wall  in  front.  It  is 
built  of  dingy  brick,  and  would  hardly  elicit  but  a  casual 
glance  from  the  passing  stranger ;  but  it  is  one  of  those 
institutions  which  are  common  all  over  England,  and  illus- 
trates most  forcibly  a  prominent  characteristic  of  the  English 
people,  —  charity. 

The  village  of  Castle  Rising  has  scarcely  a  population  of 
a  hundred  souls ;  but  it  has  a  Norman  church,  a  ruined 
castle,  and  a  hospital.  This  low,  odd-shaped  building  is  a 
charity-hospital,  for  the  sole  accommodation  of  old  women. 
It  was  founded  by  a  Lord  Howard,  who  was  an  earl  of 
Northumberland  in  the  reign  of  James  the  First,  for  the 
benefit  of  old  women  who  were  without  pecuniary  support, 
and  were  of  a  goodly  conversation  and  prudent  behavior. 
His  money  endowed  it  for  an  everlasting  monument  to  his 
thoughtfulness  and  kindness  of  heart.  It  has  stood  here 
for  two  hundred  years,  and  will  stand  here  when  judgment- 
day  dawns. 

This  hospital  forms  the  four  sides  of  a  grass  court.  All 
the  rooms  open  out  upon  the  court.  Each  room  for  the 
occupation  of  an  old  woman  is  about  eight  feet  square.  In 
it  she  lives  and  sleeps.  Each  is  provided  with  a  window 
and  a  fireplace.  The  furniture  is  furnished  by  themselves, 
and  the  most  of  it  is  what  they  have  been  accustomed  to 
since  they  first  entered  upon  life  (for  articles  here  are  made 


194  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

substantial,  and  are  calculated  to  last  for  generations)  :  con- 
secjuently,  the  movable  features  of  the  rooms  do  not  present 
that  uniformity  which  contributes  one-half  the  dreariness  to 
alms-houses  and  prisons.  The  mantels  were  filled  with  bits 
of  china,  plaster-of-paris,  and  stone  ornaments ;  and  against 
some  of  the  walls  were  colored  lithographs  of  the  sailor-boy, 
Angeline,  and  other  familiar  characters  of  romance  and 
song. 

There  are  about  twenty  occupants  of  the  Castle-Rising 
Hospital,  their  ages  ranging  from  fifty-five  to  ninety-three 
years.  Each  one  has  a  dollar  a  week,  a  linsey-woolsey  dress 
per  annum,  and  a  ton  and  a  (juarter  of  coal  every  year,  and 
the  rent  free.  Out  of  this  dollar  she  must  furnish  her  own 
food.  She  has  the  privilege  of  doing  needle  or  other  light 
work  for  sale.  •  They  live  comfortably,  and  appear  to  be  very 
happy  and  contented.  The  rooms  were  scrupulously  clean, 
and  every  article  was  in  place.  Most  of  the  old  ladies  were 
sitting  by  the  open  doors,  knitting.  On  Sundays  and  saint- 
days  they  appear  at  church  in  scarlet  cloaks  and  high-peaked 
hats,  —  a  la  Mother  Hubbard. 

The  English  are  remarkable  as  the  authors  of  endowment. 
The  land  fairly  bristles  with  monuments  of  this  trait,  in  the 
shape  of  hospitals,  schools,  drinking-fountains,  and  the  like ; 
and,  in  addition,  corporations  and  municipalities  and  parishes 
take  a  hand  in,  and  are  doing  their  level  best  to  make  the 
land  a  surprise  to  strangers,  and  a  delight  to  the  Divine  Pro- 
tector of  the  widowed  and  fatherless. 

No  wonder  this  English  nation  is  so  wealthy,  so  powerful, 
and  so  famous. 

I  have  visited  several  of  the  alms-houses,  and  find  ihcm 
uniform  in  appearance  and  conduct.  The  most  interesting 
is  that  in  the  village  of  Darwenham.  There  were  about  one 
hundred  inmates  in  all.  They  were  mostly  old  men  and 
women.  There  were  some  boys  and  girls,  and  a  half-dozen 
idiots.     In  every  alms-house  I  have    found   several    idiots. 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  I95 

An  English  physician  tells  me  that  the  large  percentage  of 
idiocy  in  England  is  due,  in  a  great  degree,  to  the  beer-sot- 
tishness  of  the  mother.  The  keeper  of  this  alms-house  gave 
me  the  same  opinion. 

The  men  were  dressed  in  corduroy,  and  the  women  in 
linsey-woolsey.  We  passed  through  the  bed  department ; 
and  the  keeper  turned  down  the  clothes,  and  pulled  up  the 
bedding,  to  show  me  how  neat  and  clean  the  beds  were 
kept.  And  they  were  neat  and  clean.  We  passed  into  the 
dining-room  for  the  men,  and  saw  them  partaking  of  their 
supper,  which  consisted  of  bread  and  tea.  In  the  morning 
this  is  supplemented  with  bacon,  and  at  noon  they  have  a 
dish  of  vegetables,  and  boiled  or  roast  meat.  They  looked 
hearty.  In  one  room  there  was  a  fire  burning  ;  and  about  it 
sat  several  very  old  men,  leaning  on  the  head  of  their  sticks. 
They  were  red-eyed  and  wrinkled,  and  trembling  with  age. 
My  companion,  a  well-to-do,  bluff,  hearty,  generous  English 
farmer,  had  lived  in  this  neighborhood  some  years  before, 
and  recognized  and  was  recognized  by  several  of  the  inmates, 
whom  he  had  known  in  better  circumstances.  He  shook 
hands  with  them  most  heartily,  and  slipped  surreptitious 
shillings  into  their  palms.  How  glad  they  were  to  see  him  ! 
and  how  their  dull  eyes  brightened  up  as  he  recalled  past 
incidents  of  mutual  knowledge  ! 

There  was  an  old  woman  who  was  housekeeper  for  a 
neighboring  lord  when  he  left  the  place  twenty  years  before. 
He  gave  his  name  and  old  neighborhood.  She  shielded  her 
eyes,  and  looked  earnestly  at  him.  "  Yes,  yes,  I  know  you," 
she  said  slowly ;  "  but "  —  a  pause  and  a  look,  —  "  but  you 
were  lame  then,  I  thought."  —  "And  I  am  lame  yet,"  he  said, 
taking  a  few  steps  before  her  to  show  her,  and  looking  as 
pleased  over  her  delight  as  if  his  infirrriity*  were  not  an  afflic- 
tion, but  a  genuine  benefit.  We  went  into  the  hospital,  and, 
in  passing  across  the  court  to  it,  were  arrested  by  music  in 
one  of  the  wings,  and  paused  to  listen  to  it.     It  was  the  boys 


196  ENGLAND    FROM    A    HACK-WINDOW. 

and  girls  singing  grace  after  their  supper.  It  sounded  very 
sweet  and  impressive.  In  the  hospital  we  found  several  pros- 
trate and  suffering.  One  of  them  was  propped  up  in  bed, 
dying  from  heart-disease. 

There  was  something  startling  in  watching  this  man  wtcs- 
tling  with  the  awful  enemy,  which  had  him  by  the  throat, 
choking  life,  hope,  gladness,  and  every  thing  out  of  his  heart 
but  the  memory  of  the  past  and  what  might  have  been. 
Dying  on  a  pallet  of  straw,  with  strange  faces  about  him, 
and  whitewashed  walls  and  fellow-misery  to  witness  the  ter- 
rible and  losing  fight  which  he  was  carrying  on  ;  contesting, 
inch  by  inch,  in  the  agony  of  despair,  the  ground  which  was 
being  wTcsted  from  him,  —  was  this  pauper,  whose  boyish 
head  of  brown  hair,  less  than  thirty  years  ago,  was  caressed 
and  kissed  by  hands  and  lips  which  thought  to  ever  be  with 
him,  and  take  him  up  to  a  pit}ing  God,  but  which  were  now 
mouldering  in  the  churchyard  hard  by. 

Just  such  another  fight  as  this  took  place  in  this  very  room 
less  than  twelve  hours  ago ;  and  the  victim  lay  stiff  and  ashy 
in  a  coffin  in  the  apartment  below,  with  the  straw  which 
formed  his  winding-sheet  bubbling  over  the  edges  of  the 
plain  deal  box.  In  still  another  room  was  an  old  man  very 
sick,  who  awakened  as  we  stepped  softly  into  his  room.  He 
said,  looking  at  the  keeper,  and  speaking  like  one  coming 
out  of  a  dream,  "  I  thought  I  was  in  North  Ameriky  with 
my  boy  Jim  :  I  must  have  dreamed  it."  —  "You  are  not  in 
America ;  but  America  is  here,"  said  the  keeper,  pointing  to 
mc.  It  was  an  almshouse-keeper's  idea  of  a  juke.  The 
old  man  brightened  uj)  at  this,  and  wanted  to  know  if  I  had 
seen  his  boy  Jim,  who  lived  in  Sandusky,  C). 

I  have  often  been  asked  a  similar  question  in  this  country, 
and  hardly  felt  put  out  at  not  being  able  to  give  the  neces- 
sary information  ;  but  it  gave  me  keen  pain  to  tell  this  old 
man  that  I  did  not  know  his  boy  Jim. 

Many  of  the   ICnglish  have  a   peculiar  and  very  startling 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  IQ/ 

idea  of  the  extent  of  America.  At  one  hotel  where  I  stopped 
was*a  family  from  Michigan.  I  never  saw  them  before. 
An  English  friend  said  to  me,  "  Did  you  know  the  Fergusons 
before  you  came  here?"  —  "I  did  not."  —  "That's  odd," 
said  he  in  a  perplexed  voice  :  "  they  are  from  the  same  coun- 
try you  are."  I  felt  obliged  to  explain  to  him,  that,  besides 
the  Fergusons,  there  were  some  three  other  families  in  Ameri- 
ca with  whom  I  was  not  personally  acquainted,  it  was  such  a 
large  place. 


198  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW, 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 


AiMUSEiMENTS. 


I  TOOK  a  nin  down  to  Manchester  one  day,  and  spent 
a  very  exciting  and  interesting  forty-eight  hours  there. 

While  there  I  visited  the  office  of  the  American  consul,  Mr. 
Newton  Crane,  formerly  companion-editor  of  the  lamented 
Charley  Leonard  on  "The  St.  Louis  Democrat;"  and 
with  that  gentleman  I  spent  a  pleasant  half-hour,  and  wit- 
nessed an  incident  containing  a  world  of  suggestion.  The 
hero  was  a  colored  man,  who  chewed  tobacco  under  many 
disadvantages,  having  an  expansive  mouth,  large,  irregular, 
and  broken  teeth,  and  rather  depressive-looking  gums. 

He  must  have  been  nearly  fifty  years  of  age,  and  was 
indifferently  clad.     He  had  a  pleasant,  mutton-tallow  voice. 

He  said  he  had  called  to  find  a  means  of  returning  to 
America. 

"You  are  from  America,  then?"  said  Mr.  Crane. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  What  brought  you  here  ?  " 

"  Well,  sir,  I  thought  I  should  like  to  come  over  and  see 
the  mor/Zii'r-count.ry."     (Sensation  among  the  conii)any.) 

"And  so  you  came  over  to  see  her.  Did  you  think  you 
could  do  better  here?  " 

"  Well  —  yes,  sir.  I  was  told  by  the  English  and  Scotch 
and  Irish  people  what  come  to  our  country  that  a  colored 
man  generally  intelligent  could  do  well  over  here,  anfl  woukl 
be  much  thought  of;  and  so  I  come." 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  I99 

"  And  you  haven't  done  well  over  here  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,  I  ain't.  It's  kept  going  from  bad  to  worse. 
There  ain't  no  work  to  be  got,  an'  I  don't  stand  any  chance 
to  get  what  there  is ;  an'  I'm  in  a  bad  way  generally,  sir.  I 
have  worked  for  two  lords  as  cook,  but  I  got  out  with  them ; 
an'  I've  been  a-goin'  down  all  the  while." 

" Don't  they  treat  you  well  over  here? " 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir  !  they  treat  me  well ;  but  I  don't  get  any 
thin'  to  eat :  and  I  thought  I  should  like  to  take  my  old 
bones  back  to  the  States." 

It  will  be  gratifying  to  my  readers  to  learn  that  his  old 
bones  were  shipped  in  that  direction  the  next  day. 

A  negro  at  a  distance  is  an  object  of  admiration  to  the 
English  people. 

In  the  evening  we  went  to  the  Belle  Vue. 

Whether  it  is  at  a  theatre,  or  any  other  entertainment,  the 
Englishman  abandons  himself  to  a  full  enjoyment  of  what 
he  beholds.  So  he  naturally  runs  to  gardens,  as  better  cal- 
culated to  indulge  this  desire ;  and  as  he  builds  his  house 
as  plainly  as  possible,  and  throws  his  weight  in  architecture 
on  his  church,  so  he  looks  not  so  much  at  a  garden  at  home, 
but  makes  the  public  affair  as  elaborate  as  money  and  taste 
can  do  it. 

We  do  not  think  much  of  Manchester,  except  as  a  manu- 
factory of  cotton-goods ;  and  yet  America  has  but  one  city 
as  large  as  it ;  and  New  York,  with  all  its  wealth,  taste,  and 
reputation,  has  no  public  garden  to  compare  with  either  of 
the  two  with  which  Manchester  is  provided. 

The  Belle  Vue  is  the  smaller  but  the  best  known  of  the 
two  gardens. 

There  are  trips,  or  what  we  would  call  excursions,  made 
to  it  two  or  three  times  a  week  from  the  adjoining  towns 
and"  counties.  It  is  better  known  to  many  English  people 
than  is  Manchester  itself,  I  am  sorry  to  say. 

Belle  Vue  comprises  a  museum  of  curiosities,  a  menagerie 


200  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

that  would  put  to  shame  the  travelling  concerns  by  that  name 
in  America  (by  the  way,  I  should  like  to  wager  that  one 
of  the  Belle  -Vue  bears  would  put  to  flight  an  entire  American 
menagerie,  and  even  scare  the  ticket-master,  and  then  get 
back  home  in  time  for  an  early  tea),  an  aviary,  an  aquarium, 
and  a  pond  with  many  row  and  three  miniature  steam 
boats. 

Then  there  is  a  painting  on  wood  of  the  battle  of  Waterloo, 
arranged  in  terraces,  with  openings  among  the  imitated  hills 
and  ridges  for  the  manoeuvring  of  troops.  This  painting  is  in 
the  open  air,  and  remains  up  until  the  expiration  of  a  year, 
when  it  is  taken  down,  and  some  other  historical  incident  of 
tragic  interest  is  substituted  for  the  succeeding  year. 

Opposite  this  is  a  stand  for  the  band,  with  flanking  gal- 
leries capable  of  seating  ten  thousand  people  ;  and  between 
these  galleries  and  the  painting  is  a  platform  where  three 
hundred  couples  can  dance  at  once.  Under  the  galleries 
are  extensive  tea  and  bar  rooms.  One  of  the  tea-rooms  is 
a  sixpence,  and  the  other  a  shilling  department ;  and  the 
shilling  entitles  you  to  a  pot  of  tea  and  a  half-dozen  slices 
of  bread  and  butter  which  were  neither  cut  nor  spread  by  a 
step-mother.  I  have  seen  no  caterers  in  England  who 
imagine  Providence  has  bequeathed  them  a  popular  place 
of  entertainment  for  the  express  pur]:)ose  of  swindling  the 
patrons. 

As  the  sun  went  down,  and  twilight  (that  mystic  halo  which 
crowns  England  from  the  disappearance  to  the  re-appearance 
of  the  sunlight)  succeeded,  the  crowds  increased  quite  visi- 
-bly,  and  it  was  safe  to  say  that  fully  ten  thousand  peojile 
were  present.  The  elephant,  which  all  the  afternoon  had 
been  carrying  loads  of  jolly  children  about  tlie  grounds  with 
a  solemnity  befitting  his  task,  had  retired  ;  and  across  the 
gravelled  plaza  rode  mounted  men  in  armor,  taking  their 
way  to  the  mysterious  recesses  of  Waterloo.  We  mounted 
into  the  galleries  with   thousands   of  others,  and   patiently 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  20I 

waited  until  ten  o'clock.  As  that  hour  struck,  the  field  of 
AVaterloo  renewed  its  carnage  and  terrific  uproar.  A  balloon, 
shedding  innumerable  blue-lights,  suddenly  started  heaveri- 
ward  ;  rockets,  Roman  candles,  and  blue-lights  flashed  forth  ; 
the  hills  and  ridges  became  alive  with  cavalry,  infantry,  and 
brigadier-generals  ;  cannon- crackers,  cannons,  and  musketry 
pealed  forth  their  thunders  ;  battle-flags  waved  ;  music  sound- 
ed ;  and  the  cries  of  the  combatants  filled  the  air.  Then  a 
barn  in  the  foreground  took  fire ;  and  the  flames  rolled  up 
through  the  roof,  adding  their  crackling  and  hissing  to  the 
general  horror.  Charge  after  charge  was  made  and  repulsed  : 
finally  the  French  were  overcome,  and  then  the  cannonading 
and  musketry  became  fairly  awful,  and  the  scene  closed. 

All,  all,  for  a  shilling  ! 

Dear  reader,  why  not  come  to  England  ? 

And  the  police  were  there,  of  course.  Whether  the  enter- 
tainment is  of  public  or  private  furnishing,  they  are  always 
about,  always  in  the  way  of  ruffians  and  rowdies,  and,  what 
are  infinitely  worse  than  either,  impudent  country  boors ; 
and  in  all  the  number  at  this  cheap  entertainment,  with  several 
bar-rooms  within  its  limits,  there  was  no  disturbance. 

I  had  read  so  much  of  the  sufferings  and  deprivations  of 
the  operatives  in  the  Manchester  cotton-mills,  that  I  had  a 
pardonable  curiosity  to  see  them.  We  proceeded  there  at 
once.  The  location  of  the  mill  we  were  to  visit  my  friend 
was  uncertain  about ;  and,  getting  into  its  neighborhood,  he 
inquired  of  a  laboring-woman  on  the  street,  who  pointed  out 
the  building.  As  it  led  us  in  the  direction  she  was  going,  we 
went  with  her  ;  and  she  proceeded  to  a  discourse.  She  told 
us  that  the  mill  in  question  was  hardly  known  by  the  firm's 
name,  and  gave  the  popular  name,  which  was  a  most  filthy 
cognomen.  She  didn't  blush  when  she  said  it,  but  admitted 
that  she  was  almost  ashamed  to  speak  it  when  she  first  came 
into  the  neighborhood.  We  left  her,  where  we  were  to  turn 
off,  with  sincere  regret. 


202  ENGLAND    FROM    A    HACK-WINDOW. 

We  found  an  obliging  manager  in  charge,  who  kindly  took 
us  through  the  different  departments,  and  intelligently  ex- 
l)lained  to  us  the  offices  of  the  machinery.  But  it  was  the 
mill-people  I  wanted  to  see,  and  the  typical  mill-girl  in 
particular.  I  saw  her  immediately.  Her  name  was  Blanche. 
She  was  about  forty-eight  years  old,  had  a  wen  on  the  top  of 
her  head,  and  no  upper  teeth. 

I  was  satisfied. 

The  mill  was  very  clean,  and  every  thing  appeared  in  order. 
One  o'clock  was  the  hour  for  (quitting ;  and,  prompt  to  the 
second,  work  was  stopped.     I  was  surprised  at  this. 

There  are  thousands  of  men,  women,  and  children  working 
in  the  cotton  and  other  mills  of  Manchester  ;  but  the  govern- 
ment has  them  in  charge,  and  they  are  most  amply  protected. 

Whatever  of  oppression,  poverty,  and  suffering  that  is 
said  to  have  prevailed  here  a  half-century  ago  is  nQt  appar- 
ent now. 

The  employers  have  not  changed  ;  they  are  just  as  selfish 
and  human  as  they  were  then  :  but  the  inexorable  law  of 
this  country  has  stretched  forth  its  iron  hand  over  them,  and 
the  least  deviation  from  the  path  of  prescribed  action  closes 
the  merciless  fingers  upon  them. 

The  operatives  get  to  work  at  six  o'clock,  have  breakfast 
between  seven  and  eight,  quit  at  one,  recommence  at  two, 
and  cease  for  good  at  half-past  five  or  six  o'clock.  If  a 
manufacturer  should  keep  them  a  minute  over  time,  and  was 
reported,  he  would  be  promi)tly  hoisted  in  front  of  the  near- 
est magistrate,  and  subjected  to  a  fine  of  two  hundred  and 
fifty  dollars,  with  the  additional  discomfort  of  having  his 
name  and  offence  paraded  in  print. 

As  to  wages,  the  children  earn  from  a  dollar  to  a  dollar 
and  a  half  per  week ;  the  women,  from  two  to  four  dollars  ; 
and  the  men,  from  five  to  seven  dollars.  The  women  and 
(  hildren  wear  a  coarse  shoe  with  a  heavy  wooden  sole  ;  and, 
when  the  hundreds  and  thousands  pass  over  the  pavement  to 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  203 

and  from  work,  the  clicking  of  the  wooden  soles  is  almost 
deafening.  They,  as  well  as  all  Lancashire  working-people, 
have  an  unfortunate  habit  of  nicknaming ;  and  so  popular 
become  these  titles,  that  men  have  been  known  to  almost 
forget  their  surnames,  while  their  neighbors  entirely  lose  sight 
of  them. .  If  a  man's  given  name  is  Tom,  he  is  called  so 
by  everybody,  to  the  complete  exclusion  of  his  family  name. 
If  he  has  a  son,  the  son's  name  and  the  father's  are  blended. 
For  instance,  if  the  son's  name  is  Bill,  he  is  known  and  ever 
spoken  of  or  addressed  as  Bill  of  Tom  ;  and  so  on. 

I  had  just  time  to  take  a  run  out  to  the  Pomona  Palace, 
which  is  the  disguising  title  of  the  companion-garden  to 
Belle  Vue. 

A  dog-show  was  the  principal  feature,  and  I  am  extrava- 
gantly fond  of  dogs.  The  afternoon  I  came  into  the  city,  I 
found  two  mastiffs  in  the  de'pot.  In  the  confusion,  I  thought 
they  were  two  freight-cars  that  had  by  some  inscrutable 
means  got  off  the  track.  I  was  glad  to  find  they  were  dogs. 
The  larger  of  the  two  was  called  the  champion  of  England, 
and  added  other  laurels  by  carrying  off  the  prize  at  the 
show.  It  is  a  very  nice  thing  in  England,  as  well  as  in 
America,  to  have  the  champion  animal  of  the  country ;  for 
as  long  as  shows  are  kept  up,  so  long  is  the  owner  assured  of 
an  income. 

This  was  the  largest  dog  I  ever  saw :  it  was  the  largest 
dog  any  two  people  ever  saw.  I  thought  at  first  I  would 
buy  him,  but  partly  hesitated  on  learning  the  price  (one 
thousand  dollars),  and  completely  gave  up  the  idea  before  I 
saw  him  out  of  the  station. 

He  was  secured  by  a  chain  in  the  hands  of  an  attendant,  — 
a  man  who  appeared  to  be  in  a  chronic  state  of  perspiration 
and  protestation.  And  he  was  an  erratic  dog.  He  made 
violent  and  entirely  unexpected  dashes  at  various  objects 
or  openings  ;  and,  wherever  he  went,  the  perspiring  and  pro- 
testing individual  was  sure  to  go.     He  snapped  him  off  his 


204  ENGLAND    FROM    A    HACK-WINDOW. 

feet  every  other  minute,  and  in  the  intervals  hauled  him 
over  sharp-cornered  trunks,  bumped  him  against  other  people 
with  luggage  in  their  hands,  or  shoved  him  over  highly-indig- 
nant but  utterly  helpless  little  boys,  whose  unrestrained  curi- 
osity had  led  them  too  close  to  the  performance.  The  last 
I  saw  of  the  keeper  (?)  he  was  passing  through  the  door  in 
charge  of  the  mastiff,  a  boy  was  running  after  with  his  hat, 
and  people  on  the  sidewalk  'were  appropriating  elevated 
places  with  spotless  alacrity. 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  20$ 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

TELLS,  AMONG  OTHER   THINGS,  WHAT  THE  ENGLISH  THINK   OF  US. 

WE  are  all  more  or  less  bigoted  until  we  travel.  Our 
own  institutions  and  customs  grow  to  be  considered 
the  best  institutions  and  the  only  true  customs  until  we 
have  opportunity  to  compare  them  with  other  customs  and 
institutions.  All  that  we  hear  —  and  this  is  to  both  prepare 
and  inform  you  —  is  not  exactly  true.  I  have  shown  that  all 
the  English  are  not  morose,  sullen,  and  exclusive  ;  and  I 
have  tried  to  show  as  many  as  I  have  come  in  contact  with 
that  the  American  people  are  not  wholly  boors  or  assassins, 
—  the  only  two  classes  many  English  recognize  in  America. 

I  have  claimed  that  the  average  English  woman  is  not  so 
tastefully  dressed  as  the  average  American  woman. 

I  am  told  here  that  the  average  English  woman  is  superior 
in  dress  to  her  American  sister,  in  that  she  dresses  plainly ; 
while  the  American  woman  arrays  herself  in  flashy  colors, 
and  sports  a  swell  air. 

Does  she  ? 

The  swell  American  woman  dresses  richly,  as  her  husband 
or  father  well  knows,  but  not  flashy. 

And,  really,  is  a  man  in  broadcloth  and  kids  inferiorly 
dressed  to  the  man  in  blue  jean  and  dog-skin  gloves?  Blue 
jean  and  dog-skin  are  the  plainer  of  the  two  suits.  It  is  not 
the  quality  of  the  goods,  but  their  style  of  making  up  and 
wearing  them. 


206  ENGLAND    FROM    A    HACK-WINDOW. 

I  am  proud  to  think,  that,  while  our  American  woman 
dresses  in  high-priced  goods,  she  shows  achiiirable  taste  in 
selecting  and  combining  the  colors ;  and  there  is  no  class  of 
women,  unless  it  is  the  tinglish  and  Esquimaux,  less  open 
to  the  offence  of  tawdry  apparel. 

There  is  a  plainness  that  is  too  decided  to  be  tasteful. 

And  perhaps,  if  the  matter  were  sifted  down  very  closely, 
it  would  be  found  that  the  women  of  the  middle  classes  in 
America  dress  at  less  cost  than  the  same  class  in  England. 
The  English  woman  does  not  think  she  is  dressed  up  unless 
she  has  on  a  silk  gown.  Silk  costs  much  less  here  than  it 
does  in  America,  to  be  sure  ;  but  this  is  offset  by  the  fact  of 
wages  being  much  less  here  than  there. 

The  English  err  in  some  other  things  regarding  us,  but 
pardonably,  I  believe.  It  is  the  style  of  American  journalism, 
especially  in  the  Far  West,  to  exaggerate  :  it  is  also  its  style 
to  jest  on  tragic  subjects.  These  exaggerations  and  jests 
are  readily  seized  upon  by  English  journals  as  illustrative  of 
our  characteristics,  and  sowed  broadcast  among  their  people. 
It  is  the  misfortune  of  the  English  not  to  understand  an 
American  joke.  The  fatal  consequence  can  be  imagined. 
They  believe  of  all  America  just  as  the  people  of  the  Eastern 
States  believe  of  the  Territories  and  California,  when,  if  the 
truth  were  known,  there  is  less  cutting  and  slashing  in  the 
Far  West  than  in  the  Far  East. 

An  able  school-teacher  in  Norfolk  asked  me  the  other  day 
if  all  American  gentlemen  did  not  have  either  a  pistol  or 
knife  concealed  about  their  person. 

In  the  estimation  of  those  who  have  not  seen  him,  a  full- 
blooded  American  is  a  sort  of  i)erambulating  arsenal,  con- 
stantly she<lding  bullets,  bowies,  and  toq)edoes. 

The  predisposition  of  the  untravelled  English  to  believe 
that  American  ladies  are  lacking  in  refinement  is  materially 
aggravated  by  an  English  playwright,  who  has  written  "  An 
American  Lady,"  which  is  rendered    nightly  to   large    and 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  20/ 

appreciative  audiences  at  the  Criterion  Theatre  in  London. 
The  American  lady  thus  exhibited  is  huidenish,  slangy,  mas- 
culine, swaggering,  bullying,  and  indescribably  offensive. 

I  could  readily  see  by  the  expressions  of  those  in  the 
audience  near  to  me  that  they  accepted  the  character  as  a 
very  fair  representation  of  an  American  lady. 

An  English  woman  on  making  a  call  dons  her  best,  which 
is  considered  as  a  compliment  to  the  person  called  upon. 
On  receiving  calls,  she  takes  equal  care  not  to  do  her  best, 
for  fear  she  may  excel  her  caller,  which  would  be  a  dis- 
courtesy. ' 

There  is  a  genuine  delicacy  of  feeling  in  this  custom. 

Whatever  the  English  may  beheve  of  our  institutions  and 
customs,  many  of  them  have  ennobhng  ideas  of  money- 
making  in  America. 

Numbers  have  left  here  for  America  with  a  view  to  making 
a  fortune  in  three  or  four  years  without  much  effort,  and 
returning  to  live  in  a  castle  with  hot  and  cold  water  on  eveiy 
floor. 

Where  are  they? 

There  are  others  who  fall  into  the  other  extreme,  and  I 
have  been  very  much  edified  by  intelligent  but  rather  lengthy 
disquisitions  on  the  valuelessness  of  our  money. 

Here,  where  the  money  is  hard  gold  and  silver  and  obese 
copper,  the  currency  is  looked  upon  with  a  great  deal  of 
curiosity ;  and  people  are  much  surprised  to  learn  that  a  few 
trifles  are  still  purchasable  with  it  in  America. 

A  man  can  conveniently  carry  around  with  him  a  thousand 
dollars  of  our  money,  I  have  been  told ;  but  a  man  \vith  a 
thousand  dollars  of  the  current  money  of  England  in  his 
pocket  would  have  to  be  lifted  about  with  a  derrick. 

But  there  is  no  doubt  that  it  is  frequently  a  mistake  for 
the  English  working-man  to  go  to  America.  Our.  labor- 
market  is  overstocked,  and  our  labor  is  much  different  from 
what  it  is  here. 


208  ENGLANn    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

An  American  manufacturer  of  agricultural  machinery,  who 
has  gooil  custom  here,  contemplated  a  branch  factory ;  but 
the  experiment  proved  a  failure.  He  found  and  confessed, 
that,  with  the  higher  price  of  iron  in  his  own  country,  he 
could  make  the  machines  there,  and  pay  the  shipments  here, 
for  less  money  than  it  cost  to  manufacture  in  England.  In 
the  States  he  got  the  wood  cheaper ;  but  the  main  item  was 
in  the  labor.  American  labor  cost  more  primarily ;  but  the 
Yankee  mechanic  did  double  the  work  in  the  same  hours. 

From  what  I  have  seen  on  the  farm  and  in  the  shops  and 
mills,  I  judge  that  the  English  workman  does  more  talking, 
and  less  work,  than  his  American  brother ;  and  a  great  deal 
of  time  is  lost  in  stepping  out  for  beer. 

The  wages  of  mechanics  in  England  vary,  like  those  in 
America,  according  to  the  market. 

In  the  country  they  get  from  seventy-five  cents  to  a  dollar 
and  a  (juarter  a  day,  and  in  the  city  from  a  dollar  to  a  dollar 
and  seventy-five  cents. 

This  is  somewhat  less  than  American  wages  :  but  it  must 
be  taken  into  consideration  that  many  of  the  necessaries  of 
life  cost  less  here ;  and  a  very  good  breastpin  can  be  got 
for  a  quarter.  Land  will  average  well  in  price  with  that  in 
New  England  ;  but  the  mechanics  of  England  are  not  land- 
holders. They  universally  rent ;  and  rents  are  less  here, 
startling  as  is  the  statement,  than  in  New  England  and  the 
Middle  States. 

I  saw  a  very  pretty  two-story  house,  with  an  acre  and  a 
half  of  very  highly-cultivated  garden,  and  an  acre  of  pastu- 
rage with  abundance  of  stabling,  rent  for  two  hundred  and 
fifty  dollars  per  annum  ;  and  it  was  within  two  miles  and  a 
half  of  a  flourishing  city.     It  was  not  an  exceptional  case. 

Taxes  are  high ;  but  they  are  mostly  the  local  rates.  It 
requires  money  to  keep  their  roads  in  the  magnificent  con- 
dition for  which  they  are  famed,  and  to  take  cure  of  their 
poor  as  generously  as  they  do. 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    HACK-WINDOW.  2O9 

In  Norfolk  County,  the  chief  agricultural  district,  the  rates 
are  about  five  per  cent,  of  which  the  government  levy  is  but 
one-fifth.  England's  debt  is  immense ;  but  England's  re- 
sources are  still  more  immense. 

The  man  who  rents  can  pay  the  rates  and  taxes  on  the 
property,-  and  thus  vote  :  without  so  doing  he  cannot  handle 
the  ballot.  These  rates  and  taxes  are  about  one-quarter  the 
rent,  and  are  deducted  therefrom. 

Suppose,  for  instance,  a  man's  rent  is  a  hundred  dollars  : 
the  assessment  is,  therefore,  twenty-five  dollars  ;  and,  by  tak- 
ing the  responsibiUty  of  it,  he  gets  his  lease  at  seventy-five 
dollars  per  annum.  If  the  rates  decrease  in  any  year  during 
the  lease,  he  saves  money :  if  they  increase,  he  loses. 

Many  prefer  to  go  without  the  ballot  to  incurring  this  risk. 

The  mechanic  in  the  provincial  towns  who  earns  one  dol- 
lar a  day  will  comfortably  support  his  wife  and  two  children, 
and  save  twenty-five  dollars  in  the  year. 

This  will  give  you  a  comprehensive  view  of  the  situation 
in  this  tax-oppressed  and  down-trodden  country.  I  have 
been  very  particular  to  inquire  into  the  condition  of  the 
working-people,  because  I  have  been  taught  from  infancy 
that  the  acme  of  taxation  was  reached  here,  and  that  every 
necessary  of  life  was  taxed  almost  beyond  reach  of  the  com- 
mon people. 

By  conversation  with  all  classes,  I  learn  that  there  is  not 
that  universal  hungering  to  get  out  of  England  which  Mr. 
Arch  represents ;  and  when  I  go  through  the  lanes,  and 
look  over  the  broad,  bright  green  fields,  and  the  blossoming 
hedges,  and  the  wonderfully  trim  homes  smothered  in  ivy 
and  climbing  roses,  I  am  glad  of  it. 

Ah  !  indeed  it  is  a  beautiful  country,  —  so  beautiful,  that 
even  a  poet  might  work  in  it. 

And  such  a  tasty  people  they  are  about  their  homes  !  I 
shall  not  be  at  any  time  surprised  to  find  garlands  crowning 
the  dust-heaps  of  the  streets. 


210  ENGLANn    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

I  have  yet  to  sec  tlie  yard  that  is  not  a  bower  of  ivy  and 
roses,  while  many  of  the  humble  places  ha\e  a  variety  and 
abundance  of  flowers  and  shrubs  that  would  delight  the  most 
exacting  horticulturist. 

And  the  ivy  and  holly  grow  spontaneously  in  every  garden 
and  along  every  wall ;  while  the  broad  sweep  of  lawn  and 
park,  and  perspective  of  wooded  avenues,  on  the  estates  of 
the  wealthy  squire  or  nobleman,  are  charming  to  a  degree 
that  is  exhilarating. 

Why,  even  in  that  range  of  precipitous  hills  which  lie  be- 
tween Derby  and  Manchester,  where  the  sides  are  so  steep 
that  you  can  almost  see  any  one  come  in  at  the  gate  by 
looking  up  the  chimney,  stone  walls  laid  up  in  masonry  sur- 
round the  humble  homes,  and  roses  fairly  foam  over  their 
tops. 

Aside  from  its  historical  associations,  England  is  worth 
coming  a  thousand  miles  to  see. 

Almost  every  family  has  some  relative  in  America,  and  I 
am  frec^uently  asked  about  them.  He  is  a  poor  Englishman 
indeed  who  hasn't  a  cousin  in  the  States. 

Wherever  I  go,  I  am  recognized  as  being  an  American. 
In  the  cars,  on  the  stage-coach  or  omnibus,  in  the  hotels  or 
on  the  road,  I  daily  hear,  "  You  are  from  America,  sir  ? " 
.and  then  follows  questioning  about  the  people,  their  cus- 
toms, and  the  chances  for  money-making. 

Our  mixed  liquors  and  slang  are  never-failing  subjects  of 
interest  to  them.  They  have  seen  pictures  of  American  bar- 
tenders mixing  liquors  by  pouring  them  from  one  glass  to 
the  other,  with  the  vessels  as  far  apart  as  the  hands  can  be 
extended  ;  and  they  don't  understand  it. 

They  ask  me  if  there  are  such  drinks  as  brandy-smashes, 
claret-punches,  gin-slings,  and  the  like  ;  and  when  I  tell  them 
I  am  not  quite  sure,  but  think  I  have  heard  those  things 
mentioned  by  worldly  people  in  the  States,  they  say,  "  Ah, 
how  wonderful ! " 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  211 

I  hope  I  haven't  deceived  these  people. 

But  when  they  press  me  to  tell  them  why  Americans  call 
some  of  their  drinks  "  cofhn-makers,"  "  soul-poisoners,"  and 
"  dead-shots,"  I  am  compelled  to  admit  that  I  never  heard 
the  terms  before  ;  and  then  they  look  disappointed. 

They  imagine  that  the  universal  channel  for  the  expression 
of  ideas  is  slang,  and  repeat  much  that  they  have  heard, 
which  possesses  as  much  novelty  to  me  as  it  does  to  them. 

They  handle  our  slang  about  as  artistically  as  they  do  our 
geography ;  and,  in  this  latter  particular,  they  never  seem  to 
realize  that  Canada  is  not  somewhere  concealed  within  the 
United  States. 

They  call  Michigan,  Mitchygin;  and  Connecticut,  Conncct- 
ty-cut.  But  the  name  of  Chicago  is  their  chief  hold.  Even 
the  terrible  fire  was  more  merciful  than  are  they.  They 
complacently  denominate  it  Cthi-ka-go,  Cthi-cog-o,  Chick-a- 
go, Chee-ag-o  ;  but  the  favorite  rendering  is  She-caggy. 

I  was  conducted  over  Christ  Hospital  by  a  young  English- 
man who  saw  that  I  was  an  American,  and,  being  acquainted 
with  the  place,  kindly  offered  to  give  me  all  necessary  infor- 
mation. 

He  said  he  had  a  brother  in  x\merica,  who  was  here  on  a 
visit  last  summer,  and  from  whom  he  learned  much  that  was 
valuable  and  strengthening  in  the  way  of  slang.  He  felt  quite 
proud  of  the  advantages  he  enjoyed.  I  could  see  that  plainly 
enough.  He  frequently  turned  from  an  elaborate  painting, 
an  ancient  wall,  or  a  fine  monument,  to  show  off  his 
accomplishments  from  America. 

He  told  me  in  a  confidential  whisper  that  he  had  a  pair 
of  pants  made  with  a  pocket  in  behind,  "just  as  they  do  in 
America ; "  and  was  very  anxious  that  I  should  go  around  to 
his  house,  about  four  miles  distant,  and  see  them. 

I  was  fairly  consuming  with  anxiety  to  see  the  gorgeous 
breeches ;  but  an  engagement  prevented,  and  I  reluctantly 
declined  the  invitation. 


212  ENGLAND    FROM    A    nACK-WINDOW. 

I  liavc  been  obligcil  to  give  up  carrying  my  handkerchief 
in  the  hip-pocket.  The  operation  of  drawing  it  forth,  and 
restoring  it  to  its  place,  made  me  altogether  too  conspicuous 
for  comfort. 

But  I  was  speaking  of  taxes. 

The  man  who  neither  owns  nor  rents  property  pays  no 
taxes.     It  is  neither  every  body  nor  every  thing  that  is  taxed. 

The  last  government  removed  the  duties  from  several  arti- 
cles of  necessary  consumption. 

If  a  man  owns  a  carriage,  he  pays  a  tax  upon  it  of  three 
dollars  and  seventy-five  cents  if  it  is  a  two-wheel,  and  of  five 
dollars  and  twenty-five  cents  if  it  is  a  four-wheel  conveyance. 
Some  of  the  articles  taxed  in  our  country  are  taxed  here  : 
others  that  we  tax  they  do  not.  There  is  no  duty  on  watches, 
jewelry,  or  musical  instruments.  An  Englishman  who  owns 
a  gun  pays  two  dollars  and  fifty  cents  for  the  pri\ilege ;  and, 
if  he  wants  to  enjoy  the  pleasure  of  hunting,  he  pays  seventy- 
five  cents  a  year.  If  he  is  no  better  shot  than  many  of  the 
Nimrods  w^ho  hover  about  Danbury,  that  seventy-five  cents 
is  a  dead  loss. 

The  rate  of  interest  here  is  about  five  per  cent. 

This  is  a  tax-ridden  and  down-trodden  country ;  but  the 
people  who  live  here  and  bend  to  the  yoke  have  an  unpleas- 
ant habit  of  looking  healthy  and  happy.     It  isn't  right. 

And  then  clothes  can  be  bought  here  for  one- half  the 
price  asked  in  America,  and  daily  there  is  presented  the 
astonishing  spectacle  of  the  citizens  of  a  free  and  prosperous 
country  coming  to  this  oppressed  land  to  buy  their  clothes. 

It  is  awful. 

But  we  have  some  advantages.  We  have  plenty  of  ice 
and  oysters,  two  very  rare  luxuries  here.  As  high  as  twelve 
cents  a  pound  is  paid  for  ice  in  some  parts  of  ICngland  ; 
and  as  for  oysters,  tliey  are  nowhere.  Their  oysters  are 
small,  and  less  palatable  than  ours  ;  but  they  pay  from  tliirty- 
six  to  eighty-five  cents  a  dozen  for  them. 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  213 

The  English  oyster  puts  on  a  great  many  "kigs,"  I  think. 

But  what  can  be  said  of  a  country  that  is  without  peanuts? 
In  the  whole  length  and  breadth  of  this  fair  laiid  there  is  not 
a  single  peanut.  Think,  if  you  can  grasp  the  thought,  of  a 
country  hoary  with  history,  and  glorified  with  romance,  pass- 
ing over  the  cycles  of  centuries  without  peanuts. 

I  shouldn't  have  thought  it  could  do  it. 

I  have  not  seen  a  pair  of  boots  since  I  have  been  in  Eng- 
land. Shoes  are  the  universal  article  of  foot-wear  ;  and  those 
pulled  around  by  the  laborers  are  thickly  studded  with  star- 
ing nail-heads.  Eight  ounces  of  these  nails  are  frequently 
used  in  a  pair  of  shoes,  and  some  pairs  used  by  miners 
have  from  a  pound  and  a  half  to  two  pounds  of  these  iron 
nails  in  them. 

A  favorite  fashion  with  the  ladies  is  wearing  black  or  lead- 
colored  stockings  —  I  am  told. 

And  yet  there  seems  to  be  about  as  much  marrying  here 
as  in  America. 


214  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

AN    APPALLING    CUSTO^L 

THE  extent  to  which  feeing  is  carried  on  in  Europe, 
especially  in  the  United  Kingdom  of  Great  Britain, 
is  something  extraordinary ;  and  I  propose  in  this  chapter  to 
speak  at  length  of  the  system.  The  .■\merican  traveller  first 
runs  against  the  custom  on  board  of  the  steamer  that  brings 
him  over.  He  fees  his  steward,  the  "  boots,"  his  waiter,  and 
anybody  who  may  be  handy  to  him  as  he  is  disembarking. 
When  he  gets  ashore  a  boy  calls  a  cab  for  him,  and  charges 
twelve  cents  for  the  service.  At  the  hotel  the  hall  porter  has 
a  trifle  for  taking  in  his  luggage.  The  next  morning  he  pro- 
ceeds on  his  way,  after  feeing  the  waiter  who  brought  him 
his  food,  the  "boots  "  who  blacked  his  shoes,  and  the  hotel 
porter  who  sees  that  his  luggage  is  again  mounted  on  the 
cab.  Arriving  at  the  station,  a  railway  porter  officiously 
hands  him  out,  sees  that  the  trunk  is  properly  labelled  to  its 
destination,  and  accompanies  him  to  the  carriage-door,  for 
obvious  reasons.  If  he  wishes  a  compartment  by  himself, 
he  gives  the  guard  or  conductor  twenty-five  cents  ;  and  others 
who  embark  along  the  line  ha\e  to  stand  some  squeezing 
before  the  dispenser  of  twenty-five  cents  is  troubled  with 
company.  He  should  not  comi)lain  of  this  expenditure,  and 
does  not ;  but  it  is  rough  on  the  other  passengers,  and  is 
pernicious  without  reserve.  It  was  some  little  time  before  I 
could  i)!uck  up  the  necessary  courage  to  tamper  with  a  rail- 
way gu;ird. 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.       '  21$ 

In  appearance  he  does  not  invite  confidence,  being 
dressed  in  blue,  with  a  gold  or  silver  band  about  his  coat- 
collar,  which  gives  him  that  austerity  of  expression  which  is 
so  peculiar  to  our  conductors.  The  idea  of  approaching 
this  dignified  official  with  an  attempt  to  warp  him  from  the 
line  of  duty  with  a  shilling  is  so  preposterous  to  the  new- 
comer, that  it  takes  some  time  to  conform  to  it.  Imagine 
any  one  offering  one  of  our  conductors  twenty-five  cents  for 
special  privileges  on  the  train  !  The  glance  he  would  re- 
ceive would  glue  his  vitals  hermetically  together.  But  the 
American  conductor  generally  receives  more  than  six  dollars 
a  week,  and  can  afford  to  glance. 

Railway  guards  are  a  good  deal  like  that  noble  animal  the 
horse.  They  know  their  friends.  When  they  come  across 
a  traveller  who  gives  them  a  shilling  for  securing  him  a  com- 
partment to  himself,  they  mark  him  well ;  and,  the  next  time 
he  comes  along,  he  doesn't  have  to  ask  for  the  privilege  again. 
He  receives  a  sweet  smile  worth  a  mint  of  wealth  to  the 
heart  of  a  stranger,  and  is  hurried  to  a  solitary  compartment, 
where  he  is  assured  that  he  can  take  a  little  comfort  with 
his  pipe,  the  information  being  inundated  with  significant 
winks.  (Tableau,  —  shilling.)  It  is  astonishing  the  number 
of  favors  a  shilling  will  obtain  from  one  of  those  uniformed 
satellites.     But  such  favors  are  not  always  begrudged. 

Every  station  has  its  railway  porters,  who  are  hired  to  see 
after  passengers  and  their  luggage.  They  meet  the  incom- 
ing train,  as  I  have  already  stated,  and  attend  to  the  wants 
of  the  passengers.  They  are  paid  three  or  four  dollars  a 
week  to  be  around,  and  the  passengers  quite  frequently  pay 
them  for  their  help.  This  custom  of  feeing  railway  porters 
for  putting  your  luggage  on  a  cab,  or  transferring  your  hand- 
parcels  to  another  train,  has  one  bad  but  very  natural  result, 
—  the  first-class  passengers  receive  the  first  and  best  atten- 
tion. On  the  arrival  of  the  train,  it  is  noticeable  that  the 
door  to  every  first-class  compartment  is  supplied  with  a  por- 


2l6  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

tcr.  Those  who  fail  to  secure  this  drop  back  on  the  sec- 
ond-class, leaving  few,  if  any,  to  take  care  of  the  third-class. 
The  help  of  the  porter  is  quite  frequently  worth  the  fee  :  but 
a  bad  practice  is  fostered,  and  the  recipient  is  demoralized 
by  receiving  two  payments  for  one  ser\'ice ;  that  is,  if  a 
railway  porter  can  be  demoralized  by  any  thing.  Besides, 
the  third-class  passenger  is  often  left  to  struggle  with  his 
bundles  as  he  best  can  ;  although,  in  paying  his  fare,  he  con- 
tributes to  the  support  of  the  man  who  has  left  him  for  fairer 
skies.     But  that  is  human  nature. 

Hotels  and  restaurants  are  the  most  important  centres  of 
the  system.  In  the  former,  any  ser\'ant  who  has  any  thing 
to  do  with  you  expects  a  fee.  AVhen  you  inquire  for  your 
bill  is  the  signal  for  the  attack.  This  is  the  reason,  perhaps, 
that  some  do  not  inquire  for  their  bills.  There  is  the  cham- 
ber-maid just  outside  your  door  in  the  passage,  on  the 
stairs  is  the  "  boots,"  and  in  the  hall  the  porter ;  and  yet 
the  people  here  wonder  that  Americans  carry  pistols. 

Feeing  is  not  a  modern  nuisance,  but  has  generations  to 
sanction  and  aggravate  it.  It  got  so  bad  a  few  years  ago, 
and  the  complaint  against  it  was  so  loud  and  general,  that 
the  proprietors  of  hotels  and  restaurants  took  the  matter  in 
their  own  hands,  and  hit  upon  a  remedy  :  it  was  to  charge 
attendance  in  the  bill  at  so  much  a  day  or  meal,  and  thus 
save  the  guests  all  annoyance.  Thackeray  never  perpetrated 
any  thing  equal  to  it.  The  charge  for  attendance  at  a  hotel 
is  from  twenty-five  cents  to  thirty-six  cents  a  day  for  each 
person ;  at  restaurants,  from  four  to  six  cents  the  meal  each 
l)erson.  This  was  supposed  to  be  done  to  secure  the  ser- 
vants as  well  as  to  save  the  guests.  It  was  an  ingenious 
stroke.  The  attendance-money  is  put  into  the  pocket  of 
the  proprietor,  whereas  formerly  it  went  to  the  serwmts  ;  and 
the  latter,  with  the  inii)ortunate  lines  in  their  fiices  as  deep 
drawn  as  ever,  continue  to  confront  the  guests.  '  And  why 
not? 


ENGLAND    FROM   A    BACK-WINDOW.  21/ 

The  result  of  this  change  has  been  to  add  to  the  revenue 
of  the  landlord,  and  to  subtract  from  the  already  under- 
paid servant.  The  landlord,  with  the  wages  of  his  servant 
unincreased  by  the  innovation,  has  no  more  right  to  this 
money  than  he  has  to  any  other  property  of  the  guest.  The 
complaint  of  which  it  is  the  result  was  not  levelled  against 
the  receptacle  of  the  fees,  but  the  payment  of  them.  The 
reform  was  supposed  by  a  credulous  public  to  be  made  in 
the  interest  of  the  travellers,  not  in  behalf  of  landlords ; 
and,  as  there  has  been  no  reduction  in  the  hotel  and  restau- 
rant charges,  thoughtful  people  are  anxious  to  know  by  what 
process  of  reasoning  the  proprietors  justify  the  additional 
item  of  attendance  in  the  bills.  I  said  to  the  landlord  one 
day,  ^ 

"Why  is  attendance  charged  guests?" 

"To  regulate  feeing,  which  had  become  an  abuse,"  he 
promptly  replied. 

"  What  right  had  ser\'ants  to  demand  fees  anj^vay  ? "  I 
next  asked. 

"  Because  that  was  a  portion  of  the  revenue  attached  to 
their  place,"  he  said. 

"  It  went  to  make  up  their  wages,  then?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  !  " 

"  Does  it  now?  " 

He  thought  it  looked  very  much  like  rain. 

Under  the  old  regime  it  was  feeing  the  waiters ;  under  the 
new  it  is  feeing  the  landlord ;  and,  in  the  case  of  a  guest 
who  doesn't  like  to  appear  "  small,"  it  is  feeing  both. 

Some  of  these  English  people  pay  their  bills  with  the  at- 
tendance charge,  and  let  that  end  it ;  but  the  most  of  them, 
and  all  Americans,  fee  as  well  as  pay,  and  find  they  are  bet- 
ter served  for  so  doing.  You  occasionally  see  on  a  hotel - 
bill  "  No  gratuities  to  the  servants,"  whi^h  looks  well  enough 
in  print.     That  is  the  reason  they  put  it  there,  I  suspect. 

In  the  matter  of  fees  the  senants  of  the  hotels  and  res- 


2l8  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

taiirants  ought  not  to  be  censured.  I  do  not  blame  them, 
and  cannot,  although  the  system  by  which  they  thrive  is  fre- 
quently an  irritation  difficult  to  describe.  But  the  remedy 
is  not  the  one  now  employed  ;  and  no  attempt  whatever, 
short  of  paying  the  help  adecjuate  wages,  will  avail  to  abate 
the  evil.  The  deficiency  is  now  made  up  by  the  guest; 
while  the  landlord,  who  has  been  amply  paid  for  his  accom- 
modation, disgracefully  escapes  the  responsibility. 

When  I  say  "  amply  paid,"  I  speak  advisedly.  Compare, 
for  instance,  the  charges  of  a  first-class  English  with  the 
same  kind  of  American  hotel.  The  latter  charges  from  four 
to  five  dollars  per  day  (including  all  "  extras"),  and  presents 
a  variety  of  dishes  entirely  unkno\vn  to  the  English  hotel, 
and  consequently  gives  the  guest  more  enjojTnent  and  better 
satisfaction  than  he  can  obtain  in  any  English  hostelry. 
The  English  charges  are,  — 

Breakfast,  sixty  cents ;  dinner,  a  dollar  and  twenty  cents ; 
tea,  sixty  cents ;  bedroom,  forty-eight  cents  :  total,  two  dol- 
lars and  eighty-eight  cents. 

Add  twenty-eight  cents  as  a  premium  on  gold,  and  you 
have  a  fifst  cost  of  three  dollars  and  sixteen  cents  per  day, 
or  what  would  be  equal  in  America,  with  its  market  and  labor 
prices,  to  full  five  dollars  per  day.  Now,  on  top  of  all  this, 
comes  thirty-six  cents  a  day  for  attendance. 

So,  without  the  attendance-money,  the  English  landlord  is 
receiving  a  larger  sum  than  his  American  contemporary,  and 
giving  less  in  return  for  it. 

I  have  said  I  do  not  blame  the  servants  as  being  respon- 
sible for  the  feeing  nuisance.  Let  us  see  how  they  share  in 
the  extortion. 

At  one  hotel  I  staid  several  weeks.  I  paid  thirty-six  cents 
a  day  for  attendance.  The  "  boots  "  was  an  elderly  party. 
He  received  two  dollars  a  7t>cel;  and  boarded  himself.  The 
female  ser\'ant  who  waited  at  the  table  got  one  dollar  and 
twenty-five   cents  a  week,  and   board  ;    the   chambermaid, 


ENGLAND   FROM    A   BACK-WINDOW.  219 

twenty-five  cents  less  than  the  waiter.  The  bar-maid,  who 
managed  the  house,  received  two  dollars  and  fifty  cents  and 
her  meals.  Do  you  wonder  those  people  looked  for  fees  ? 
What  would  the  "  boots  "  have  done  had  the  guests  acted 
on  their  rights,  and  allowed  the  thirty-six  cents  which  each 
paid  per  day  to  the  landlord  to  have  discharged  their  obliga- 
tion in  the  matter  of  attendance  ? 

The  hotel  had  a  livery  attached.  I  hired  a  trap  for  three 
hours'  use,  with  a  driver.  When  we  got  back,  I  gave  tbe 
driver  a  shilling.  It  is  rarely  I  part  with  my  money ;  but  I 
had  had  a  pleasant  drive,  and  felt  generous  and  good-natured. 
What  was  my  surprise  and  disgust  when  the  man  asked  me 
for  another  shilling  !  He  had  no  right  to  demand  a  penny, 
of  course,  being  in  the  employ  of  the  hotel  proprietor,  to 
whom  I  was  to  make  my  payment  for  the  trap ;  but  I  gave 
him  the  extra  shilling,  and  sat  up  two-thirds  the  night  as- 
signing him  to  various  places  in  the  dim  and  uncertain  future. 
Several  days  later  he  took  me  out  again  for  a  half-day ;  arid, 
when  we  returned,  I  left  him  without  any  reward.  I  wanted 
to  see  what  he  would  do.  He  came  after  me  the  next  morn- 
ing, with  hat  in  his  hand,  and  knuckling  his  forehead  with 
due  respect. 

I  looked  at  him  with  unconcealed  dislike ;  for  he  was  a 
leech  of  the  first  water. 

"  I  come,  sir,  to  see  about  the  hire,  please,  for  driving  you 
out  yesterday,  sir." 

"Do  you  owTi  the  trap?"  I  asked  in  a  voice  of  illy-sup- 
pressed disgust. 

"  No,  sir  :  I  only  drives  it." 

"Exactly;  and  what  is  your  cha?-ge?"  said  I,  with  sting- 
ing emphasis  on  the  last  word. 

"Three  shillings,  if  you  please,  sir." 

Was  the  man  mad  ?  I  looked  at  him  in  a  sort  of  stupor 
for  full  a  minute.  There  he  stood,  with  his  old  hat  in  his 
hand,  his  rusty  coat  looking  more  rusty  than  ever,  and  his 


220  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK  WINDOW. 

liair  tumbled  in  all  directions.  He  would  get  this  three 
shillings  out  of  me,  and  then  laugh  in  his  patched  sleeve  at 
my  greenness ;  and  Saturday  night  he  would  receive  from 
his  employer  payment  for  that  day  he  drove  me,  and  I 
would  reimburse  the  landlord  for  his  expenditure. 

I  paid  him  the  three  shillings  with  clinched  teeth  ;  and 
after  breakfast  I  went  to  the  bar-maid,  and  said  to  her,  — 

"  Who  is  that  old  fellow  who  drove  me  out  yesterday?  " 

"  He  is  one  of  the  stable-help,  sir." 

"  So  I  thought.     And  how  much  does  he  get  a  week  ?  " 

"  He  don't  get  any  wages,  sir." 

"  IV-h-a-i?'' 

"  No,  sir  :  he  is  not  paid  wages.  He  helps  about  the  stable 
and  yard  ;  and,  when  gentlemen  hire  a  trap,  he  drives  them 
out,  and  what  they  pay  him  supports  him." 

About  two-thirds  distracted,  I  rushed  out  of  the  bar  in 
quest  of  the  old  chap ;  and,  when  I  found  him,  I  shook  his 
hand  till  his  neck  loosened,  and  told  him  how  sorry  I  was  to 
have  been  so  cross  with  him  for  simply  trjing  to  get  his  liv- 
ing, and  that  he  was  a  proper  old  boy  anway.  In  the  ex- 
uberance of  my  remorse  I  even  called  him  a  z}'Tnosimeter. 

It  subsequendy  occurred  to  me  that  he  might  not  know 
what  a  zymosimcter  was  :  so  I  returned,  and  explained  to 
him  that  it  was  nothing  injurious.  Speaking  of  hotel- wages 
reminds  me  that  the  lady  who  has  almost  the  entire  charge 
of  one  of  the  leading  hotels  in  Glasgow  receives  the  munifi- 
cent sum  of  four  dollars  and  ninety  cents  a  week.  What 
of  her  salary  she  does  not  use  in  building  a  cathedral  she 
intends  devoting  to  neat  bronze  drinking-fountains  for  public 
use.  Such  a  woman  as  that  is  an  honor  to  her  sex  and  to 
Glasgow. 

In  many  of  the  prominent  hotels  and  restaurants  the 
"  boots  "  or  the  head  waiter  not  only  receives  no  salary  at 
all,  but  pays  a  premium  for  his  place,  and  trusts  to  the  fees 
for  a  living,  and  never  f;iils  of  success.  The  same  guests  jiay 
the  landlord  for  attendance  (  ? ) .     Do  you  see  ? 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    RACK-WINDOW.  221 

An  English  landlord  would  think  it  the  height  of  absurdity 
if  he  should  find  in  his  grocery  or  draper  bill  an  item  for  the 
clerk's  attendance  upon  his  purchases ;  and  yet  the  draper 
or  grocer  could  as  sensibly  do  this  as  he  does. 

But  feeing  is  not  entirely  confined  to  the  annoyance  of 
the  travelling  public.  It  permeates  every  walk  of  life,  and 
exhibits  itself  in  ways  unique,  and  startling  to  the  stranger. 
A  gentleman  showed  me  over  his  extensive  works  in  Scot- 
land. In  one  branch  of  them  he  committed  me  to  the  more 
intelligent  care  of  the  foreman.  Closing  the  observation, 
I  was  puzzled  to  know  whether  to  offer  the  foreman  a  fee. 
I  did  not  wish  to  appear  "  small  "  in  his  eyes  by  not  doing 
it,  and  yet  dreaded  to  run  the  risk  of  offending  him  by  mak- 
ing the  offer.  In  desperation  I  extended  the  silver.  It  <was 
covered  with  a  promptness  that  surprised  me.  I  visited  an 
industrial  school.  I  had  a  letter  of  introduction  to  the  man- 
ager. He  showed  me  the  workings  of  the  institution.  When 
he  bowed  me  out,  I  showed  silver.  One  of  the  inmates 
stood  near  us.  The  manager  turned  his  back  on  him,  made 
a  feint  of  shaking  hands  with  me,  and  "  scooped  "  in  the  fee. 
These  cases  are  not  exaggerations. 

It  doesn't  pay  to  exaggerate  when  you  are  constantly 
travelling,  and  liable  at  any  time  to  a  fatal  accident. 

It  may  be  asked  why  I  offered  the  manager  of  the  indus- 
trial school  a  fee.  It  is  just  like  some  people  to  put  such  a 
question,  and  never  think  of  asking  why  the  manager  did 
not  refuse  it. 

It  is  even  customary  to  fee  the  servants  of  the  friends  you 
visit ;  so  much  the  custom,  in  fact,  that  a  lady-writer  in  one  of 
the  London  papers  attempts  to  establish  the  amounts  which 
should  be  given.  It  is  not  said  how  much  this  demand  on  the 
guest  improves  the  tone  of  the  hospitality  he  receives  :  perhaps 
it  cannot  be  estimated.  If  such  an  order  of  things  prevailed 
in  America,  I  fancy  there  would  be  less  of  visiting  by  affec- 
tionate city  people  to  dear  country  cousins  in  the  summer 
months. 


222  ENGLAND    FROM    A    RACK-WIXDOW. 

A  great  evil  in  this  country  is  llic  large  surplus  of  servants 
in  employ.  I  visited  a  party  in  Scotland  who  keeps  twenty- 
one  sen'ants.  These  are,  a  butler,  who  attends  to  buying  for 
the  table ;  an  under  butler,  who  gives  the  articles  to  the 
cook ;  a  porter,  who  stays  in  the  hall,  and  catches  flies  with 
a  dexterity  that  is  almost  supernatural ;  a  cook  and  an  assist- 
ant cook ;  a  housekeeper,  who  looks  after  the  linen ;  four 
chambermaids  ;  a  waiter  ;  two  scullery-maids  for  rough  work 
in  the  kitchen ;  an  errand-boy ;  a  coachman,  footman,  and 
hostler  for  the  stables  ;  gardener  and  three  assistants.  One- 
half  the  number  would  be  amply  sufficient  to  do  the  work. 
\\'hen  the  family  are  in  the  city,  four  servants  are  left  in 
charge  of  the  country-house.  What  four  servants  find  to 
keep  them  busy  in  an  unoccupied  three-story  building  is  better 
imagined  than  described. 

Less  sen-ants  and  better  pay  would  prove  a  welcome  reform. 

In  business  communications  the  system  of  fees  is  no  less 
rampant.  An  English  friend  owns  a  brick-yard.  Driving 
out  with  him  one  day,  we  stopped  where  a  building  was  going 
up,  his  brick  being  used  in  the  construction.  He  had  a 
short  chat  with  the  builder,  and  was  about  to  drive  away, 
when  the  latter  said,  — 

"This  is  pretty  dry  work,  Mr. ." 

My  friend  took  out  a  pocket-book  and  gave  the  respectable 
contractor  two  shillings,  and  we  then  went  on. 

In  answer  to  a  question,  my  companion  explained  that  this 
was  a  toll  upon  him,  which  he  was  forced  to  pay,  or  lose  the 
job  of  supplying  the  brick  to  this  or  any  building  this  con- 
tractor may  erect.  The  contractor  himself  was  not  the  bu)er. 
He  did  the  work  by  the  day,  as  is  the  custom  in  England,  the 
owner  furnishing  the  material  at  the  contractor's  suggestion. 
He  could  thus  turn  the  trade  into  the  market  that  paid  him 
best,  without  regard  to  his  emi)loyer's  interests. 

If  a  man  came  to  his  yard  for  a  barrow  of  bricks,  he 
expected  and  demanded  the  price  of  a  ghiss   of  beer,  or 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  223 

he  would  take  his  barrow  to  some  yard  where  he  could 
get  it.  It  was  immaterial  to  him  what  the  bricks  cost,  as  he- 
did  not  have  to  pay  for  them.  And  this  despicable  sys- 
tem extends  more  or  less  to  nearly  every  branch  of 
business. 


224  ENGLAND    FROM   A    BACK-WINDOW. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

SKIPS   FROM   THE   CAI5   TO  THE    HEARSE. 

WHILE  on  the  subject  of  extortion,  I  should  hke  to 
take  another  pull  with  my  ancient  foe,  the  English 
cabman.  Whatever  his  fares  may  be  as  arranged  by  law,  he 
has  the  right  to  claim.  It  is  only  when  he  demands  more 
than  that  amount  (and  that  is  pretty  much  all  the  while)  that 
he  comes  under  the  same  head  as  the  driver  of  a  barrow  of 
bricks,  a  contractor  for  building,  and  the  proprietor  of  a  hotel. 
Foreigners  are  his  principal  prey ;  and  as  tliey  at  home  have 
little  to  do  with  hackmen,  doing  the  bulk  of  their  riding  in 
street-cars  and  omnibuses,  and  are  wholly  dependent  on 
the  hackman  when  here,  tliey  become  sensible  of  his  excesses, 
and  find  themselves  constantly  on  the  aggressive  against  him. 
Thus  arises  much  of  the  loud  complaint  against  the  class 
from  our  people,  who  are  apparently  not  aware  that  the 
American  hackman  is  a  greater  scamp  than  the  English  cabby, 
to  say  nothing  of  his  offensive  bearing. 

A  shilling  for  a  mile  for  one  or  two  persons,  and  a  sixpence 
for  each  additional  mile,  is  the  highest  charge  here.  The  cab- 
man will  get  an  extra  sixpence  out  of  you,  if  possible  ;  and, 
once  in  a  while,  will  try  for  a  shilling.  I  have  paid  sixteen 
shillings  for  the  use  of  a  hack  to  be  taken  a  mile  and  a  half, 
and  a  friend  of  mine  was  charged  twenty  shillings  for  the 
same  distance.  It  is  to  be  sincerely  regretted  that  both  of 
these  instances  occurred  in  New  York,  and  not  in  London. 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    HACK-WINDOW.  225 

The  law  which  regulates  the  English  cab-charges  knows 
more  than  I  about  the  matter.  But  still  the  charge  appears 
to  be  a  small  sum,  when  it  is  understood  that  the  cabman 
pays  from  six  to  ten  shillings  a  day  for  the  use  of  the 
establishment,  and  must  drive  that  number  of  fares  before 
he  can  begin  to  make  any  thing  for  himself.  They  generally 
bite  me,  and  it  makes  me  mad  enough  to  knoclc  their  heads 
off;  and  yet  I  am  sorry  for  the  poor  devils.  They  have  got 
to  fleece  somebody,  I  suppose,  to  make  both  ends  meet. 
Still  it  would  be  much  better  if  poor  people  did  not  have  two 
ends. 

But  they  don't  scorch  me  so  badly  as  they  used  to  do.  I 
have  played  a  march  on  them  by  donning  a  pair  of  English 
breeches.  These  breeches  are  light-colored,  and  cling  so 
tightly  to  my  body  and  legs,  that,  every  time  I  bend  over,  the 
people  in  the  next  house  know  it.  When  I  engage  a  cab, 
I  bring  my  legs  conspicuously  to  the  front.  When  the  driver 
looks  into  my  open  and  ingenuous  countenance,  he  is  tempted 
to  charge  a  sixpence  ;  but,  on  glancing  down  at  my  legs,  he 
takes  another  thought,  and  unhesitatingly  compromises  on  a 
threepence.  The  money  I  thus  save  I  give  to  the  South-sea 
Islanders  —  when  I  meet  them. 

But  this  is  not  a  pleasant  subject.     Let  us  talk  of  funerals. 

The  English  fairly  spread  themselves  in  matters  of  woe. 
Their  hearses  are  mountains  of  gloom.  The  body  is  heavy, 
cumbersome,  and  agonizingly  black.  They  are  not  lighted 
off"  with  sheets  of  glittering  French  plate  and  silver  orna- 
ments. They  have  no  bay-windows.  On  top  are  from  six 
to  eight  three-story  plumes,  presenting  a  forest  of  waving 
gloom.  Among  the  plumes  are  perched  quite  frequently 
the  pall-bearers,  dressed  in  petrifying  black,  with  heavy 
bands  of  mourning  about  their  hats,  and  streaming  down 
their  backs.  The  driver  is  similarly  arrayed.  Accompany- 
ing the  hearse  there  is  one  coach,  and  perhaps  two.  They 
are  mourning-carriages,  built  with  all  the  trappings  of  woe ; 


226  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

and,  should  cremation  obtain,  they  would  be  a  dead  loss  to 
the  owner,  as  they  are  not  by  nature  adapted  to  any  other 
but  the  most  lugubrious  work.  They  have  no  such  funeral 
processions  as  we  do,  formed  of  all  sorts  of  vehicles,  from 
the  crafty  hack  to  the  effervescing  buck-board.  None  but 
mourning-coaches  are  permitted  in  the  line,  and  rarely  but 
one  of  those.  Neither  is  there  a  procession  on  foot  in  the 
city  funerals.  The  gait  of  the  sombre  cavalcade  forbids 
pedestrianism.  You'd  hardly  believe  it,  especially  from  see- 
ing the  amount  of  woe  in  the  appearance  of  the  carriage  ; 
but  the  London  funerals  trip  along  through  the  crowded 
thoroughfares  at  a  smart  trot.     It  is  a  ghastly  spectacle. 

In  the  country  the  custom  is  somewhat  different.  Proces- 
sions of  friends  precede  the  hearse,  the  men  wearing  the 
streaming  bands  of  mourning  about  their  hats.  I  witnessed 
a  rural  funeral  recently.  First  came  the  doctor,  and  with 
him  the  apothecary,  —  as  a  sort  of  accomplice,  I  suspect ; 
next  came  the  undertaker,  and  by  his  side  was  the  draper 
who  sokl  the  material  for  the  mourning-garments  ;  next  six 
pall-bearers  (who  do  not  bear  the  body,  that  being  done  by 
men  engaged  by  the  undertaker),  and  after  them  friends  of 
the  deceased.  The  hearse  did  not  pass  into  the  churchyard. 
The  coffin  was  removed  at  the  gate,  placed  on  a  rack,  cov- 
ered with  a  black-velvet  pall,  and  taken  up  on  the  shoulders 
of  the  hired  bearers,  who  carried  it  to  the  church,  and,  after 
the  senice,  to  the  grave.  The  coffin  was  plain,  and  of 
oak,  which  appears  to  be  the  national  wood  for  every  use  but 
fuel.  There  was  no  rough  box  :  rough  boxes  are  rarely  used 
here,  and  some  undertakers  never  heard  of  them.  I  was 
asking  one  of  those  dismal  people,  the  other  day,  the  price 
of  coffins  ;  and  he  said  he  could  put  me  up  a  tidy  article  for 
fifty  shillings.  I  told  him  I  guess  I  would  wait  until  he  got  in 
his  spring  styles.  I  am  sorry  now  I  didn't  take  it,  as  it  was 
a  marvellously  cheap  coffin  at  the  price.  All  the  boxes  are 
made  after  the  chilling  pattern  of  a  century  ago.     The  coun- 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  227 

trj'  undertakers  are  mostly  joiners  and  builders,  and  keep 
no  stock  on  hand  :  those  who  do  have  a  dreary  monotony. 
The  English  undertaker  seems  to  have  sunk  into  a  distress- 
ing lethargy.  He  isn't  that  sharp,  nervous,  cheerful  individ- 
ual who  caters  to  dead  people  in  the  Rocky  Mountains. 
You  don't  see  in  the  windows  of  the  undertaking  establish- 
ments here  such  alluring  notices  as  "  Closing  out  cheap  to 
make  room  for  new  stock ;  "  "  Coffins,  caskets,  and  cabi- 
nets below  cost  for  the  next  thirty  days ;  "  "  The  largest 
stock  of  coffins  in  town  for  the  holiday  trade  ;  "  "  Call  and 
examine  before  purchasing  elsewhere ;  "  "  No  charge  for 
showing  goods ;  "  &c. 

London  has  a  "  Reformed  Funeral  Association."  It  pro- 
poses to  relieve  the  poor. and  middle  classes  from  the  heavy 
expense  which  they  are  under  in  interring  their  dead  in  the 
outside  cemeteries.  A  few  years  ago  the  interment  of  the 
dead  was  prohibited  in  the  city  graveyards,  and  cemeteries 
were  constructed  outside.  From  the  centre  of  that  enor- 
mous city  to  the  nearest  outside  "  city  of  the  dead  "  is  a 
distance  of  several  miles,  and  funeral-expenses  have  borne 
quite  heavy  on  the  poorer  classes.  I  would  have  thought 
this  act  put  a  stop  to  Westminster-Abbey  sepulclire ;  but  it 
doesn't. 

In  Norfolk  County  they  have  a  hearse  and  coach  com- 
bined ;  the  place  for  the  coffin  being  at  the  front,  and  a 
place  in  the  rear  for  four  mourners.  In  another  section  of 
the  country  the  same  result  is  obtained  by  a  sort  of  carryall, 
capable  of  seating  twenty  people,  ■with  a  platform  under- 
neath, slung  to  the  axles,  for  the  body.  This,  I  imagine, 
would  have  the  appearance  of  a  picnic,  and  impart  a  bright 
and  cheerful  aspect  to  the  occasion.  It  is  called  a  "  funeral 
'bus."  In  the  part  of  the  country  where  it  prevails  —  Shef- 
field and  whereabouts  —  they  have  "mutes."  These  are 
chaps  who  carry  staffs  and  say  nothing,  and  are  paid  for 
hanging  around  and  looking  sad.     They  wear  streamers,  and 


228  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

are  the  genuine  "  trappings  of  woe."  The  idea  of  hiring  any 
one  to  feel  bad  because  of  your  death  must  be  the  very 
height  of  fehcity. 

Another  feature  of  Enghsh  funerals,  and  a  not  always 
acceptable  one,  is  the  obligation  upon  every  one  attending 
to  wear  black.  It  is  not  always  possible  to  borrow  black 
garments,  and  it  is  a  grain  or  two  beyond  reason  to  expect 
the  neighbor  to  go  to  the  expense  of  buying  a  wardrobe  for 
the  occasion. 

In  our  country  the  funeral  generally  occurs  the  third  day 
of  the  death  :  here  the  body  is  frequently  kept  a  week,  and 
sometimes  eight  or  ten  days ;  seldom,  if  ever,  less  than  five 
days,  unless  in  the  case  of  a  contagious  disease.  The  Eng- 
lish don't  intend  to  bury  their  friends  alive  for  lack  of  time 
to  prove  them  dead.  Tliey  think  our  haste  is  indecent,  and 
I  don't  contradict  them. 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  229 


CHAPTER    XXVI  I. 


IN   A   GROCER  S   CELLAR. 


WE  don't  look  for  much  growth  in  the  old  country. 
We  read  the  figures  furnished  by  immigration,  and 
deduce  therefrom  the  impression  that  we  receive  the  surplus 
population  of  the  mother-land,  and  that  the  cities  which  go 
to  make  it  up  remain  at  about  the  same  figure.  We  have 
always  known  London  to  be  a  colossal  city ;  but  the  great 
bulk  of  Americans  (including  myself)  do  not  realize  that  it  is 
a  city  of  enormous  vitality.  Of  its  size,  no  one,  not  even  a 
Londoner,  has  a  proper  idea.  And  yet  this  city,  vast  as  it 
is,  is  growing  at  a  marvellous  rate.  Its  population  is  sup- 
posed to  be  nearly  four  millions,  and  it  is  growing  every  hour. 
It  is  not  a  mushroom  growth,  although  the  figures  appear  so  ; 
but  it  is  constructed  as  solidly  as  that  portion  of  it  which 
took  form  under  the  careful  and  tedious  surveillance  of  the 
fogies  of  the  sixteenth  century. 

Approaching  the  suburbs  in  any  direction  from  the  heart, 
new  streets  and  new  buildings  are  found.  Where  were  fields 
and  hedges  five  years  ago  are  now  paved  streets  and  com- 
pact walls  of  masonry,  with  the  necessary  policemen  and 
hydrants. 

One  of  the  Chicago  cities  of  England  is  Leicester.  It  is 
in  the  red-brick  region.  I  mean,  by  that,  that  the  brick  used 
in  the  construction  of  its  houses  is  as  red  as  that  which  we 
use.     Leicester  and  the  neighboring  city  of  Derby  are  built 


230  ENGLAND    FROM    A  '  HACK-WINDOW. 

with  this  clay ;  and,  the  moment  an  American  strikes  the 
neighborhood,  he  assumes  a  pleased  expression.  It  is  rarely 
he  meets  such  a  bright  red  anywhere  else  in  English  building. 

Twenty-five  years  ago,  Leicester  was  not  half  so  large  as 
it  now  is.  Its  present  population  is  a  hundred  and  ten 
thousand.  I  believe  there  are  one  or  two  cities  in  the 
United  States  which  have  not  doubled  their  census  in  the 
past  quarter  of  a  century. 

Leicester  is,  consequently,  more  modern  than  many  of  its 
contemporaries ;  but  still  it  can  show  by  occult  evidence 
that  it  was  a  place  of  some  importance  several  hundred 
years  before  Edward  the  Confessor  made  his  appearance. 
In  fact,  Leicester  combines  the  extreme  modern  with  the 
extreme  antique. 

In  the  depressed  portion  of  the  city  is  a  creek  or  river, 
neither  deep  nor  wide.  Over  this  is  a  low  bridge,  strong  and 
substantial,  as  they  build  every  thing  in  this  country,  but  not 
noticeable.  It  is  called  the  Bow  Bridge.  I  do  not  know  how 
old  the  bridge  is ;  but  it  is  certain  that  its  arches  stood  here 
four  hundred  years  ago,  as  at  that  time  the  bridge  became 
conspicuous  in  tradition.  We  see  a  great  many  old  structures, 
in  travelling  through  England,  of  which  there  is  not  a  scrap 
of  information  as  to  the  date  of  origin. 

Over  this  bridge,  four  hundred  years  ago,  Richard  the , 
Third  marched  his  armies  to  the  fated  field  of  Bosworth. 
When  he  rode  over  it,  he  struck  his  heel  against  one  end  of 
the  parapet ;  and  an  old  woman  who  observed  the  incident 
prophesied  that  his  head  would  be  broken  against  the  same 
stone  on  his  return.  He  was  defeated  on  Bosworth  field, 
and  killed  there ;  and  the  excited  people  of  Leicester  saw 
the  naked  body  of  their  monarch  brought  across  that  briilge 
on  the  back  of  a  horse.  All  Leicester  had  combined  its  re- 
sources for  days  to  make  merry  in  the  presence  of  their  king, 
and  now  he  was  brought  back  to  them  a  naked  and  outraged 
corpse. 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  23  T 

I  wish  I  had  the  power  to  describe  the  wail  of  agony  which 
came  up  from  their  aching  and  bleeding  hearts  at  the  sight 
of  this  horrid  spectacle.  Only  they  didn't  wail :  they  didn't 
wail  worth  a  cent. 

In  fact,  so  careless  were  they  in  bringing  in  the  anointed 
body,  that  the  head,  hanging  down  the  horse's  side,  struck 
the  stone  in  the  parapet  that  his  heel  had  grazed,  and  the 
skull  was  broken. 

Richard  was  no  longer  king  :  he  was  a  bleeding,  dust- 
covered,  disgraced  corpse.  And  these  Leicester  people 
dragged  around  his  body  in  derision ;  and  they  threw  it 
over  the  bridge  into  the  little  river,  and  left  it  there  for  eel- 
bait. 

It  was  very  quiet  and  beautiful  by  the  old  bridge  in  the 
summer  afternoon  that  I  stood  there.  The  houses  about  it 
Vv^ere  old  and  little,  with  drooping  lattices  and  moss-grown 
roofs.  The  scene  was  very  quiet,  very  cosey,  and  most  beau- 
tiful. The  house  that  stood  at  one  end  of  the  bridge,  and 
part  way  in  the  water,  had  an  inscription  on  one  of  its  stones 
to  this  effect :  — 

"  Near  this  spot  lie  the  remains  of  Richard  the  Third,  the 
last  of  the  Plantagenets.     1485." 

That  was  a  long  while  ago  to  die. 

While  we  were  looking  at  the  place,  and  speculating  on 
the  probabilities  of  Mr.  Plantagenet's  whereabouts,  a  Leices- 
ter physician  drove  along  with  whom  my  party  were  ac- 
quainted, and  stopped  to  spill  a  little  information  in  regard 
to  the  weather.  We  learned  from  him,  that  a  few  months 
ago,  when  laborers  were  dredging  out  the  stream,  they  came 
across  the  skeleton  of  a  man.  He  heard  of  the  discovery 
shortly  after,  and  went  to  the  workmen  to  get  a  sight  of  the 
bones,  and  perhaps  preserve  them  for  the  local  museum ; 
but  they  were  gone.  He  believed  that  it  was  the  skeleton 
of  the  defeated  and  disgraced  king,  presei-ved  until  now  by 
the   chemical  quahties  of  the  bottom  of  the  river.     Some 


232  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW, 

one  else  had  entertained  the  same  belief,  and  had  taken  the 
skeleton  and  shipped  it  up  to  the  British  Museum  at  Lon- 
don, where  it  is  now  doing  duty  in  the  Egyptian  collection 
as  one  of  the  Pharaohs.  When  the  English  peoj^le  find  a 
skeleton  they  can't  explain,  they  send  it  to  the  British  Muse- 
um, and  label  it  "  Rameses  the  Third." 

The  two  most  important  features  of  the  city,  in  the  esti- 
mation of  Leicester  people,  are  two  remnants  of  the  occu- 
pation by  the  Romans. 

One  of  these  relics  I  found  in  a  corner  grocery.  My 
friend  invited  me  in  ;  and  I  followed,  thinking  he  had  some 
business  with  the  proprietor.  It  was  a  small  grocery,  with 
the  proprietor  and  his  wife,  and  a  clerk  in  charge.  My 
friend  exchanged  a  few  words  with  the  proprietor,  who 
lighted  a  candle  and  started  for  the  cellar,  followed  by  my 
companion,  who  beckoned  to  me.  I  pricked  up  my  ears  at 
this,  and  picked  up  my  legs  too,  as  I  thought  they  were 
about  to  sample  some  old  liquors.  We  went  down  into  the 
cellar  ;  and  the  proprietor  lighted  a  gas-jet  in  one  corner,  anil 
then  I  saw  a  sight  that  made  me  catch  my  breath  abruptly. 
It  was  the  other  relic  left  to  Leicester  by  the  Romans.  It 
was  the  parlor- floor  of  one  of  their  palaces.  The  light  from 
the  gas  shone  down  upon  thousands  of  square  bits  of  stones 
of  various  colors,  set  in  mosaic,  representing  scores  of  dif- 
ferent patterns.  It  was  very  beautiful.  The  stones  were  set 
with  wonderful  skill,  each  joint  being  perfect,  and  the  figures 
represented  with  marked  fidelity.  There  were  kegs  of  salt 
fish,  and  barrels  of  oil,  and  boxes  of  soap,  &rc.,  about  the 
cellar, — a  grotesque  society  for  this  elegant  workmanship. 
The  bit  of  floor  was  about  eighteen  feet  square,  and  about 
three  feet  above  the  level  of  the  cellar.  Two  sides  of  the 
scjuare  ran  into  the  cellar-wall,  and  the  full  extent  of  the 
whole  piece  is  not  known.  It  may  continue  in  the  adjoining 
earth  for  several  yards. 

It  was  discovered  when  digging  the  cellar ;  and,  its  value 


ENGLAND   FROM   A    BACK-WINDOW.  233 

being  recognized,  it  was  carefully  preserved.  There  are  por- 
tions of  Roman  flooring  in  the  British  Museum  in  London  ; 
but  they  were  brought  from  excavations  in  Italy ;  and,  al- 
though laid  just  as  in  the  original,  still  they  have  lost,  in 
their  transfer,  much  of  their  interest.  But  this  bit  in  the 
Leicester  grocer's  cellar  is  not  only  of  general,  but  also  of 
local  interest.  It  is  now  exactly  as  it  was  laid  t^vo  thousand 
years  ago.  It  was  formed  just  here  by  people  who  were 
standing  just  where  we  stand.  And  this  cellar,  which  hasn't 
echoed  to  an  excitement  any  more  remarkable  than  that  con- 
tained in  the  remarks  of  a  clerk  who  incidentally  raps  his 
head  against  a  beam,  was  once  a  blaze  of  light,  and  resound- 
ed to  the  merry  shouts  and  gay  laughter  of  revellers  in 
togas  and  sandals.  It  is  hard  to  realize  it,  and  smell  the 
oil  and  groceries  at  the  same  time.  But  it  is  so,  thank 
Heaven  ! 

The  mosaic  floor  is  some  five  or  six  feet  below  the  street. 
Some  very  important  changes  have  taken  place  in  the  world 
since  this  place  was  on  a  level  with  the  street. 

That  voracious  institution,  the  British  Museum,  not  satis- 
fied vnih  robbing  Leicester  of  its  skeleton,  is  moving  its 
grasping  fingers  toward  this  Roman  floor. 

What  Leicester  should  do  is  to  buy  the  grocer  out,  con- 
vert the  building  into  a  sort  of  pavilion,  publish  a  romance 
with  plenty  of  love  and  poison  in  regard  to  it,  and  charge 
an  entranced  public  a  shilling  a  head  for  admittance.  I 
throw  out  these  suggestions  in  a  perfectly  disinterested  man- 
ner, and  Leicester  is  welcome  to  benefit  herself  by  them 
without  cost. 

One  more  incident,  and  I  am  done.  P.  T.  Bamum  was 
once  here.  He  came  to  buy  a  suit  of  clothes.  It  is  a  re- 
markable coincidence  that  I  bought  clothes  in  Leicester. 
But  the  difference  in  the  transaction,  and  which  may  border 
a  trifle  on  the  supernatural  to  some  people,  is,  that  he  went 
there  for  clothes  and  didn't  get  them,  and  I  didn't  go  there 


234  ENGLAND    FROM    A    DACK-WINDOW. 

for  clothes,  but  did  get  them.  However,  we  will  not  say  any 
more  about  that,  as  I  do  not  wish  peoi)le  to  get  the  impres- 
sion that  I  aim  to  praise  my  own  clothes. 

But  this  suit  that  Barnum  went  after  belonged  to  the  late 
Daniel  Lambert.  It  is  now  in  possession  of  the  propri- 
etor of  one  of  the  Leicester  papers.  Daniel  was  a  resi- 
dent of  this  city,  and  held  his  first  levee  here.  He  was  a 
remarkably  sensitive  man,  and  felt  offended  by  any  reference 
to  his  size.  Mr.  Lambert  was  a  whale  on  legs.  A  good  idea 
of  his  enormous  size  is  gained  from  this  suit  of  clothes.  It 
consists  of  a  jacket,  waistcoat,  and  a  pair  of  pants.  The 
pants  at  the  waist  are  as  large  round  as  a  railway  turn-table ; 
but  in  length  of  legs  they  are  a  humiliating  failure.  The 
armlets  to  the  vest,  or  waistcoat,  look  very  much  like  tunnel 
openings ;  and  the  pockets  thereof  are  so  large,  that  Tom 
Thumb,  when  here,  stood  comfortably  in  one  of  them.  The 
wearer,  had  he  carried  a  timepiece  at  all,  would  have  been 
obliged  to  resort  to  a  town-clock  with  an  iron  cable  as  a 
chain,  and  import  his  seals  ifrom  the  California  coast.  His 
pants  were  drawn  on  by  a  derrick ;  but  he  was  put  into  his 
boots  with  a  pile-driver.     Such  was  Mr.  Lambert. 

And  a  mighty  useful  man  in  a  house  where  they  made 
their  o\vn  carpets. 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BAOK-WINDOW.  235 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 


THE   HOME   OF   BUNYAN. 


I  WAS  at  the  national  agricultural  show  near  Bedford, 
when  I  became  aware  of  the  close  vicinity  of  the  little 
village  of  Elstow,  where  John  Bunyan  spent  a  good  share 
of  his  life.  Late  in  the  afternoon  I  struck  across  the  fields 
in  the  direction  of  the  village,  following  what  we  call  a  cart- 
path  in  this  direction.  The  path  became  less  distinct  as  I 
proceeded ;  and  in  a  short  time  I  found  myself  in  front  of 
a  farm-gate  leading  into  a  rather  extensive  barn-yard,  and 
somewhat  oppressed  by  a  suspicion  of  dogs,  I  didn't  dare 
get  over  the  gate,  and  there  was  nobody  in  sight.  This  was 
a  delightful  predicament.  I  spread  out  my  legs,  and  peered 
between  the  bars  of  the  gate  in  gloomy  meditation.  I  had 
stood  there  some  ten  minutes,  undecided  what  to  do,  when 
a  woman  appeared  in  the  door  at  the  other  end  of  the  yard, 
and,  seeing  me,  ran  back  into  the  house.  Immediately  after, 
a  man  in  a  smock-frock  and  sadly-wrinkled  corduroy  pants 
came  out,  learned  my  errand,  and,  after  eying  me  a  few  sec- 
onds, let  me  through  the  yard,  and  followed  closely  after  me 
into  the  road  at  the  front. 
I  must  get  another  hat. 

A  short  distance  from  this  farm-house  brought  me  in  what 
struck  me  then,  and  will  always  remain  in  my  memory,  as 
being  the  quaintest  village  street  I  ever  saw.  There  was  no 
regularity  in  the  width  of  the  street,  or  the  height  or  design 


236  ENGLAND    FROM    A    RACK-WINDOW, 

of  the  buildings,.  Many  of  them  had  sharp  gal)les,  and 
httle  panes  of  glass,  —  forty  of  them  to  a  window,  —  and 
sunken  doonvays,  and  projecting  upper  stories.  There  was 
not  a  modern  feature  to  the  entire  avenue ;  and  the  houses 
were  built  as  closely  together  as  if  they  were  in  the  heart  of 
a  great  city,  instead  of  being  in  the  midst  of  unlimited  fields. 
I  didn't  count  the  buildings  which  go  to  make  up  the  ancient 
village  of  Elstow ;  but  I  am  confident  there  were  not  more 
than  fifty  of  them  ;  and,  with  but  three  exceptions,  they  were 
the  habitations  of  the  poor.  A  few  steps  down  the  street 
brought  me  opposite  the  public-house,  as  ancient  and  as 
stony  as  its  fellows.  The  windows  were  of  lattice-work,  and 
swung  on  hinges.  Those  on  the  first  floor  were  open,  and 
a  girl  leaned  part  way  out  of  one  of  them  ;  while  two  healthy- 
looking  boys  stood  on  the  outside,  and  kept  her  from  falling 
out.  On  a  bench  the  other  side  of  the  door  sat  two  old 
men,  both  smoking,  and  dividing  between  themselves  a  pint 
tankard  of  ale.  Learning  from  them  that  the  house  of 
Bunyan  was  still  standing,  and  was  a  short  distance  down 
the  street,  I  pressed  on,  and  a  moment  later  reached  it. 

A  not  very  pretentious  shell  is  that  which  contained  the 
germ  of  "  Pilgrim's  Progress."  It  stood  where  the  street 
commenced  to  straggle  into  detached  cottages  of  homely 
exterior,  and  low  in  size.  It  was  a  warm  afternoon,  and  the 
door  stood  open.  Over  it  was  a  board  with  the  inscription, 
"  Punyan's  Cottage."  I  stepped  to  the  door,  and  looked  in. 
It  was  a  room  about  ten  feet  square.  The  furniture  was 
excessively  plain  and  cumbersome,  as  is  to  be  found  in  the 
cottages  of  the  English  laborer.  A  woman  forty  or  fifty 
years  of  age,  and  a  girl  about  twenty  years  of  age,  were  the 
only  occupants  of  the  room.  It  looked  as  little  like  a  show- 
house  as  can  be  imagined.  The  work  of  the  house  went  on 
without  interruption  :  meat  was  fried,  soup  cooked,  and 
bread  made,  without  the  least  reference  to  the  associations 
of  the  spot.     Here  Bunyan  spent  the  greater  part  of  his  life  ; 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW,  23/ 

and  in  the  kitchen  he  has  partaken  of  many  a  humble  meal, 
eating  his  soup  without  a  fork,  and  incidentally  inquiring  the 
particular  "  need  of  cooking  things  to  death." 

The  elder  of  the  two  women  took  me  up  stairs  into  the 
garret,  and  showed  me  the  room  where  John  slept,  and  pon- 
dered over  the  great  question  he  was  wrestling  with.  Then 
we  returned  to  the  kitchen,  where  I  signed  my  name,  and, 
being  a  trifle  hungry,  asked  if  I  could  have  a  pot  of  tea  and 
bread  and  butter.  I  thought  it  would  be  something  to  tell 
of  in  a  grocery,  when  I  became  an  old  man  and  full  of  rheu- 
matism and  snuff,  that  I  had  eaten  a  meal  of  victuals  where 
the  youth  Bunyan  had  taken  his  bread  in  his  hand.  There 
was  an  abundance  of  gooseberry-bushes  in  the  garden  ;  and 
so  I  had  a  plate  of  the  fruit  with  the  tea  and  bread,  and 
took  them  on  a  bench  just  outside  the  back-door.  The 
bread  was  dark,  and  there  was  no  milk  for  the  tea,  and  the 
sugar  for  the  berries  was  lumpy  and  hard ;  but  I  straddled 
the  bench,  and  chewed  up  the  food  and  fruit,  and  gulped 
down  the  tea,  as  decorously  as  the  hero  himself  could  have 
done  it,  although  I  was  far  less  deserving  of  it.  While  I  was 
eating,  I  learned  that  the  family  took  care  of  the  cottage  for 
the  rent,  and  were  in  no  wise  descended  from  the  famous 
preacher.  The  women  were  lace-workers,  and  the  husband 
and  father  was  a  laborer.  The  younger  of  the  two  worked 
at  her  trade  in  the  garden  near  to  where  I  was  sitting,  and 
plied  her  needle  with  such  marvellous  dexterity,  that  I  was 
fascinated  into  asking  her  how  much  a  good  lace-maker 
would  earn  in  a  day  ;  and  she  told  me  a  half-crown,  which  is 
sixty-three  cents.  That  ended  the  conversation,  and  I 
returned  to  my  supper. 

There  is  but  little  to  learn  of  Bunyan's  habits  of  life  from 
the  people  of  Elstow.  They  were  born  since  he  lived,  and 
have  preserved  no  traditions.  I  talked  with  my  hostess  and 
several  old  people  of  the  village  ;  but  they  knew  nothing  of 
Bunyan  :    all   they  knew  was  Canada.     Some  one  had  left 


238       ENGLAND  FROM  A  BACK-WINDOW. 

Elstow  fifteen  years  ago  for  Canada,  with  hardly  a  penny  in  his 
pocket,  and  had  just  returned  with  p^i  2,750,  or  nearly  $65,- 
000,  and  had  bought  Squire  Wilson's  place,  and  was  making 
great  improvements  about  it.  These  people  I  talked  with 
liad  no  especial  feeling  against  Bunyan  ;  but  they  thought 
the  time  could  be  profitably  employed  in  conversing  about 
Canada. 

They  never  lived  so  close  to  Canada  as  I  have. 

The  church  which  Bunyan  attended,  with  its  bclfry-tower 
standing  by  itself  (the  only  instance  of  the  kind  I  have  seen), 
is  a  unique-looking  fabric.  It  is  built  of  clipped  stone,  and 
is  fairly  wTinkled  with  age.  The  belfr}'-tower  I  climbed  to 
the  summit,  where  I  got  a  good  view  of  the  quaint  village  and 
the  beautiful  country  around  it.  The  roof  was  covered  with 
lead,  and  the  surface  of  the  lead  presented  a  new  and  most 
astonishing  phase  in  the  history  of  autography.  It  was  cov- 
ered with  diagrams  of  soles.  There  was  not  a  square  inch 
of  that  roof  that  was  not  thus  marked.  Many  of  the  diagrams 
had  the  owners'  names,  residences,  and  dates  inscribed  with- 
in ;  but  the  bulk  of  them  were  simply  the  skeleton  lines  of 
the  size  of  the  foot.  I  had  already  put  my  foot  down  against 
])romiscuous  autographing,  and  so  had  these  people.  It  was 
the  most  delicate  piece  of  sarcasm  I  ever  saw. 

I  told  the  sexton  to  get  out  of  the  way,  as  I  was  going 
down  stairs  ;  and  I  went  just  as  fast  as  my  legs  would  carry 
me. 

From  the  belfry  I  passed  into  the  church,  and  spent  a  half- 
hour  gazing  at  its  antique  appearance.  I  found  at  the  door, 
as  I  have  found  at  the  door  of  many  of  the  older  English 
churches,  a  box  for  contributions  towards  defraying  the  ex- 
pense of  restoring  the  church.  It  needs  restoring,  does  this 
old  church  of  Elstow.  The  walls  were  broken  in  many 
places.  The  oaken  seats  —  Bunyan's  is  pointed  out  —  are 
seared  and  seamed  by  age,  and  mutilated  by  the  active  knives 
of  the  little  boys  of  this  and  many  preceding  generations. 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW,  239 

It  is  safe  to  believe  that  Bunyan's  boyish  knife  contributed 
largely  to  this  mutilation.  Elstow  Church  has  its  effigies  in 
marble,  and  also,  hanging  high  up  on  the  wall,  the  leather 
jacket  and  sheet-iron  cap  of  Thomas  Hillay,  who  went  to 
Palestine  to  shake  up  the  Saracens,  Thomas  himself  wouldn't 
stand  much  shaking  up  at  the  present  time,  I  fear. 


240  ENGLAND    FROM    A    DACK-WINDOW. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

IN   WHICH   SHAKSPEARE   IS   SHOW'N  UP. 

STRATFORD,  upon  the  River  Avon,  needs  no  particular 
mention,  in  that  it  is  just  like  other  English  villages. 
The  stranger  cannot  fail  to  notice  that  it  is  strongly  associat- 
ed uith  Shakspeare,  as  there  is  the  Shakspeare  hotel,  and 
Shakspeare's  stores,  and  Shakspeare's  street,  &:c. 

I  stopped  at  the  Red  Lion,  it  being  the  most  presentable 
house.  I  was  at  once  made  aware  that  Washington  Ir^•ing 
had  stopped  there.  I  had  my  breakfast  the  next  morning  in 
a  little  room  on  the  first  floor,  which  had  his  name  in  brass 
letters  on  the  door ;  his  picture  was  also  on  the  wall ;  also 
his  autograph  and  volumes  were  on  the  stand.  The  chair  in 
which  he  sat  before  the  fire  and  meditated,  and  the  poker 
with  which  he  stirred  up  the  fire,  and  the  mug  with  which  he 
accelerated  his  meditations,  were  also  there.  I  should  like 
to  have  staid  there  a  week,  it  was  so  comfortable  and  snug 
in  all  particulars.  Being  in  want  of  a  shave,  I  learned  that 
there  were  two  barber-shops.  I  got  a  good  shave,  removing 
the  lather  with  my  handkerchief,  and  paid  a  penny  for  it.  I 
asked  the  old  gentleman  who  did  the  business  if  he  had 
any  bay  mm.  He  said  he  hadn't.  I  asked  him  if  he  wouldn't 
take  up  the  floor  and  see  ;  but  he  declined  to.  That  ended 
the  conference. 

I  found  Shakspear<^'s  house  on  a  street  leading  to  a  station. 
The  old  lady  in  attendance  i)roved  to  be  an  intelligent  and 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  24I 

amiable  body,  and  I  enjoyed  my  visit  with  her.  The  first 
room  into  which  I  stepped,  and  which  opened  directly  fi-om 
the  sidewalk,  was  rather  barn-like  in  appearance.  Its  floor 
had  been  of  flagging ;  but  it  was  now  splintered  as  if  a  pile- 
driver  had  spent  the  night  in  it.  The  old  lady  explained 
that  the  apartment  had  been  used  many  years  as  a  butcher- 
shop. 

The  room  contained  a  little  rough  furniture,  but  no  other 
object  of  interest.  The  walls  were  of  stone,  whitewashed. 
It  was  the  living-room  of  the  house  ;  and  here  the  young  poet 
ate  his  bread  and  molasses,  and  got  it  over  his  clean  apron  ; 
and  it  was  here  he  came  after  his  London  sprees  to  recu- 
perate. 

The  next  room,  also  to  the  front,  contained  the  museum, 
being  not  only  a  collection  of  his  relics,  but  embracing  other 
articles  quite  foreign  to  the  purpose.  There  was  an  extra 
admission  to  this.  There  were  several  hundred  portraits  of 
the  bard  both  here  and  in  the  room  above.  Vandyke  had 
him  worked  over  into  a  very  respectable-looking  Dutchman, 
and  other  painters  had  been  equally  liberal  with  their  own 
impressions  of  how  the  immortal  B.  should  look. 

I  learn  from  these  pictures  that  Shakspeare  wore  ear-rings. 
This  was  quite  a  blow  to  me.  I  despise  the  man  who  wears 
ear-rings  :  he  has  weak  eyes,  and  unkempt  hair,  and  a  bad 
mouth,  and  is  most  generally  found  shambling  along  on  the 
tow-path  of  a  canal.  And  so  Shakspeare  wore  ear-rings,  and 
was  undoubtedly  partial  to  canals.  Where  there  is  not  a  pic- 
ture of  ShakspearQ,  there  is  one  of  Garrick,  who  first  put  the 
red-hot  coal  to  his  combustible  productions,  and  started 
the  flame  which  lights  to  the  uttermost  parts  of  the  earth, 
owing  chiefly  to  there  being  no  international  copyright  law. 
The  two  rooms  above  were  somewhat  restricted  about  two 
of  their  edges  by  the  steep  roof.  However,  they  were  full  of 
his  chairs,  and  the  desk  with  which  he  studied  at  the  school, 
and  the    table   on  which    he  wrote  some  of  his  plays   (all 


242  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

clumsy  and  coarse,  and  all  of  oak,  of  course),  some  of  his 
manuscripts,  and  a  few  of  his  originally-printed  works. 

We  returned  down  stairs  to  another  apartment,  which  had 
been  used  by  the  Shakspeare  family  for  a  back-kitchen.  I 
paused  here  a  moment  to  reflect.  In  imagination  I  could  see 
the  adolescent  genius,  bare-legged  and  bare-headed,  holding 
open  the  outside  door,  and  carefully  sheltering  his  person 
behind  it,  while  his  mother  hunied  out  into  the  rain  with  the 
tubs  for  the  water.  It  strengthens  one  to  pause  in  the  hurry 
of  life,  and  think  back  on  the  past.     I  often  do  it. 

Here  was  a  register,  where  I  inscribed  my  name,  and 
thought  of  the  future,  when  it  would  be  put  up  at  auction, 
and,  after  spirited  bidding,  be  knocked  down  to  some  intel- 
ligent marquis  for  a  hundred  and  eight  pounds. 

I  mounted  a  stairway,  and  reached  the  little  bedroom 
where  Shakspeare  was  born.  The  walls  are  closely  veined 
with  the  lead-pencil  autographs  of  thousands  of  people,  and 
the  panes  to  the  only  window  are  scratched  to  that  degree 
with  names  as  to  be  almost  worthless.  Walter  Scott  figures 
among  the  rest.  Nice  way  to  show  respect  for  a  man,  mark- 
ing up  his  house  !  The  first  wave  of  the  tremendous  noise 
the  immortal  was  to  make  in  the  world  started  in  this  hum- 
ble apartment.  It  is  just  such  an  uninteresting  room  as  a 
New- England  farmer  generally  reser\'es  at  the  top  of  his 
house  to  store  his  seed-corn.  The  old  lady  took  me  thence 
to  the  garden,  and  gave  me  a  bunch  of  posies,  and  talked 
tenderly  and  reverently  of  the  dead  poet.  She  said  the 
entire  charge  would  be  eightpence.     Cheap  enough. 

Thence  I  went  to  the  church,  a  grand  old  building  in  an 
enormous  churchyard,  and  looked  upon  the  tomb  of  Shak- 
speare. The  church  is  much  like  the  others  of  the  estab- 
lished faith.  Shakspeare  and  his  wife  lie  buried  within  the 
altar-rail,  and  some  others  of  his  family  with  them.  Charges 
reasonable. 

"  New  Place "  is  the  name  of  the  house  where  he  dwelt 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  243 

after  getting  his  reputation  and  some  money.  Part  of  the 
cellar  and  the  grovmds,  surrounded  by  a  high  wall,  opposite 
a  pleasant-looking  hotel,  and  on  the  comer  of  the  street,  are 
all  that  is  left  of  the  place  where  he  died.  At  the  house 
next  door  I  found  a  lady  who  conducted  me  over  the  grounds. 
She  took  a  great  interest  in  Shakspeare.  I  am  afraid  some 
one  had  been  around  the  day  before  trying  to  imbue  her 
mind  with  doubts  of  Shakspeare's  pecuniary  welfare.  She 
talked  like  it.  She  took  me  over  the  garden,  with  its  trim 
walks  and  fine  turf  and  elegant  cabbages,  and  said,  "  Does 
this  look  as  if  he  suffered  for  the  necessaries  of  life?  " 

"  It  does  not,"  I  promptly  affirmed. 

"  It  doesn't  indeed,  does  it?  "  she  added. 

"  I  hope  to  never  die  if  it  does,"  I  declared  in  a  firm  and 
unbroken  voice. 

Then  she  showed  me  the  extent  of  the  foundations  of 
the  building,  and  said,  — 

"  Does  this  look  as  if  he  suffered  for  the  necessaries  of 
life?" 

And  I  said,  "  It  does  not." 

And  she  said,  "  It  doesn't  indeed,  does  it?  " 

And  I  said,  "  I  hope  never  to  die  if  it  does." 

Then  we  went  into  her  house,  and  she  showed  me  a  mu- 
seum, and  some  of  the  mouldings  which  had  once  decorated 
the  walls  of  the  parlors  in  "  New  Place,"  and  said,  — 

"  Does  this  look  as  if  he  suffered  for  the  necessaries  of 
life?" 

Whereupon  I  observed,  "  It  does  not." 

And  then  she  remarked,  "  It  doesn't  indeed,  does  it  ?  " 

Which  led  me  to  asseverate,  "  I  hope  to  never  die  if  it 
does." 

I  then  paid  the  charges,  and  decamped. 

When  I  first  went  there  it  struck  me  as  being  rather  odd 
that  the  old  tenement  in  which  he  was  bom  should  be  stand- 
ing, while  his  far   more    elaborate   residence   should   have 


244  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

dwindled  down  to  the  cellar-walls.  Some  time  after  his 
death  it  passed  out  of  the  family's  hands,  and  a  late  owner 
tore  it  down.  He  was  a  clergyman,  and  didn't  set  much 
store  by  Shakspeare.  I  told  the  old  lady,  if  she  would  be 
kind  enough  to  point  out  his  present  abode,  I  would  step 
round  there  and  kill  him ;  but  she  said  he  was  not  about 
Stratford  now. 

Next  in  order  came  the  residence  of  Anne  Hathaway,  at 
Shottery.  Those  whom  I  asked  said  it  was  just  across  the 
fields,  about  a  half-mile.  These  English  people  are  regular 
Peabodys  in  giving  you  distance.  You  think  you  have  only 
a  half-mile,  but  are  surprised  and  gratified,  on  examination, 
to  find  that  they  have  smuggled  in  an  extra  mile  without 
attracting  your  notice.  That's  what  I  call  true  delicacy.  I 
followed  a  broad  pathway  across  several  fields,  and  came  into 
Shottery,  with  its  forty  or  fifty  buildings,  all  antique,  and  fri- 
gidly simple.  Anne's  cottage  was  on  the  opposite  side.  It 
sat  with  its  end  to  the  road,  and  was  long  enough  to  be 
occupied  by  two  families,  as  it  indeed  was.  The  family 
tliat  lived  at  the  end  toward  the  road  had  all  the  relics,  leav- 
ing the  other  tenants  nothing  but  the  privilege  of  sitting  out 
doors  and  cursing  an  inhuman  world. 

The  woman  in  charge  here  was  angular,  and  forty-five 
(these  figures  refer  to  her  years,  and  not  to  the  degrees  of 
her  angle).  She  was  poor;  the  house  was  poor;  her  fother 
and  husband,  who  were  sitting  inside,  smoking,  were  poor ; 
and  the  dog  which  they  kept  was  poor,  but  his  sj^irit  was 
not  crushed.  The  garden  was  a  mass  of  irregulady-kept 
flowers  of  the  simple  kind,  with  a  few  cream-colored  roses 
and  a  great  abundance  of  weeds.  A  rickety  gate  opened 
at  the  comer  of  the  building  into  the  broken  stone  path 
which  led  by  her  door  and  the  door  of  her  aggrieved  neigh- 
bor. Across  the  path  from  her  door  was  a  little  well  with  no 
curb ;  and  she  let  down  a  nisty  tin  pail,  and  hooked  me  uj) 
some  delicious  water.     Then  I  followed  her  into  the  house, 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  245 

and  was  made  acquainted  with  her  flither,  a  very  old  man, 
who  was  hugging  the  fire-place,  although  there  was  no  fire  in 
it,  and  pulling  away  at  a  pipe.  He  was  eighty  odd  years  old. 
I  wanted  to  ask  him  if  he  did  not  think  smoking  was  under- 
mining his  constitution ;  but  concluded  not  to,  as  it  was 
growing  late. 

It  was  a  wonderful  fire-place  ;  so  broad,  that  the  old  gentle- 
man sat  comfortably  within  the  jamb  winter  evenings  while 
a  roaring  fire  was  in  progress.  There  was  room  for  another 
chair  and  occupant  on  the  other  side.  The  room  was  good- 
sized,  and  thoroughly  begrimed  with  smoke  and  age.  A 
number  of  strings  of  onions  were  hanging  from  a  beam  over- 
head. The  furniture  was  clumsy,  and  blackened  by  time. 
Here  Anne  and  Will  sat  and  sipped  beer  and  nectar.  Poor 
Shakspeare  !  The  great  burden  of  courting  was  not  light- 
ened to  him  by  peanuts.     He  died  without  ever  seeing  them. 

I  went  up  a  rather  trembling  old  stairway  of  oak,  much 
similar  to  that  in  Bunyan's  house,  to  the  room  where  Anne 
slept,  and  pondered,  undoubtedly,  when  her  folks  had  com- 
pany down  stairs.  I  well  remember  what  a  terrible  bore 
company  was  to  me  when  I  was  in  love. 

It  was  a  little  room,  with  drooping  ceiling,  and  bare, : — 
no,  the  walls  were  not  bare  :  they  were  as  closely  veined  as 
those  in  Shakspeare's  birth-chamber  with  lead-pencil  marks. 

Anne's  bed  took  up  a  good  part  of  the  room,  and  near 
the  foot  of  it  was  the  stair-opening.  Whether  she  ever  got 
out  of  bed  for  a  drink  in  the  night,  and  fell  down  that  stair- 
way, history  does  not  say. 

On  the  bed  were  the  quilts  and  clothes  which  Anne's  in- 
dustrious fingers  had  woven  and  ornamented.  Time  and 
moths  had  eaten  into  the  work ;  but  the  skilful  needle  of  my 
guide  had  repaired  the  breach. 

She  is  a  Hathaway  herself  by  marriage,  and  is  becomingly 
proud  of  it.  I  planked  my  name  on  the  register,  and  confi- 
dentially told  her,  should  any  one  come  along  and  offer  her 


24^  ENGLAND    FROM    A    nACK-WINDOW. 

twenty  pounds  to  cut  it  out  for  him,  not  to  do  it.  I  don't 
believe  she  will. 

The  autograph  of  Dickens  was  there.  It  was  wTitten  so 
lamely,  that  some  subsequent  visitor  had  recovered  it  to  pos- 
terity by  \vriting  beneath  it,  "This  is  the  name  of  Charles 
Dickens." 

Dickens  was  sitting  on  a  stone  near  the  well  when  the 
book  was  brought  to  him  for  signature,  he  being  a  man  of  too 
much  talent  to  get  up  and  go  to  the  book.  The  penful  of 
ink  hardly  proved  enough  to  go  round  :  hence  the  indistinct- 
ness. The  man  who  wrote  the  explanation  was  a  direct  en- 
courager  of  snobbery. 

When  I  left,  Mrs.  Baker  picked  some  flowers.  Outside 
the  gate  I  met  a  little  girl  with  a  single  rose,  which  she 
offered  for  a  penny.  A  litde  farther  on,  I  was  besieged  by  a 
half-dozen  more  on  the  same  errand. 

The  people  about  Stratford  treat  the  memory  of  Shak- 
speare  with  great  reverence  ;  but  the  author  of  their  most 
favorite  literature  is  not  Shakspeare.  A  prophet  is  hardly 
appreciated  in  his  own  country.  Shakspeare  has  a  world- 
wide reputation,  and  his  writings  are  quoted  everywhere ; 
but  in  Stratford  the  sayings  of  another  are  lifted  up  to  public 
view,  and  that  other  is  nameless.  His  birthplace  is  unknown  ; 
his  grave  is  a  mystery.  Wherever  the  Iilnglish  language  is 
spoken,  his  famous  utterances  are  before  all  eyes ;  but  he 
himself  is  as  if  he  had  never  been.  I  refer  to  those  two 
well-known  lines,  — 

POST   NO   BILLS   HERE  ! 
COMMIT   NO   NUISANCE  ! 

Why  are  not  the  impassioned  breathings  of  Shakspeare 
painted  in  black  letters  on  white  ground,  and  nailed  to  the 
walls  of  Stratford-upon-Avon?  That's  what's  the  matter  with 
—  that  is,  I  mean  why  are  they  not  ? 

In  conclusion,  I  wish  to  say  that  the  number  of  visitors  to 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  24/ 

the  old  habitation  of  Shakspeare  is  not  by  any  means  large. 
Stratford  is  out  of  the  way,  and  rather  awkward  to  reach. 
If  Shakspeare 's  birthplace  could  be  moved  to  some  more 
convenient  place,  like  Derby  or  Manchester  or  Leicester,  on 
some  through-line  of  travel,  the  number  who  would  visit  it 
would  be  one  hundred  to  one  in  its  present  situation.  The 
extra  fees  thus  obtained  would  very  soon  pay  the  expense  of 
removal.  I  have  spoken  to  several  English  people  about  it, 
and  they  are  strongly  in  favor  of  having  it  done. 


248  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

GIVES   A   FEW   OF  THE    PECULIARTnES    OF    AN    ENGUSH    WINTER. 

CLEAR,  cold,  and  crisp  was  my  Derbyshire  Christmas. 
I  wouldn't  have  missed  spending  the  day  in  England. 
As  England  is  the  embodiment  of  all  expressed  by  the  term 
"home,"  so  we  may  expect  to  find  in  its  resources  the  proper 
observance  of  a  home  festival. 

Derbyshire  had  taken  on  a  little  snow  and  a  freezing  rain 
nearly  six  weeks  before,  and  had  not  yet  got  rid  of  it :  in 
fact,  for  eighteen  days  this  section  of  the  mother-country 
had  good  sleighing.  But  three  days  before  the  dawn  of  the 
glad  anniversary  the  winter  heavens  tumbled  down  the  con- 
tents of  the  treasury,  and  the  entire  earth  was  whitened. 
Derbyshire  was  very  proud.  Many  years  had  passed  since  any 
thing  like  it  had  been  seen  ;  and  now  there  was  no  other  part 
of  England,  not  even  along  the  Scottish  border,  which  could 
point  to  eighteen  days  of  good  sleighing.  Firmly  but  kindly 
old  Derbyshire  levelled  its  index-finger  at  this  achievement, 
and  all  England  stood  abashed. 

And  yet  there  was  something  grotesque  in  this  jiride.  A 
woman  with  a  camel's-hair  shawl  and  soiled  stockings,  a  boy 
with  a  sled  without  irons,  a  man  with  a  fob  without  a  watch, 
are  in  just  such  a  pitiable  state  as  Derbyshire  finds  itself 
with  its  eighteen  days  of  good  sleighing. 

If  there  is  a  sleigh  in  Derbyshire,  if  there  is  a  sleigh  in  all 
England,  I  know  of  it  only  by  rumor :  I  have  not  seen  one, 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  249 

neither  on  the  road  nor  in  the  barn.  The  children  have  no 
sleds.  I  saw  a  boy  visiting  in  Derbyshire  who  said  he  had  a 
sled  at  his  home.  He  was  a  rosy-cheeked,  honest-eyed  boy, 
and  I  believed  him.  Then  there  was  a  boy  in  Lewes  who 
pointed  out  to  me,  one  day  in  autumn,  a  very  steep  street 
which  he  rode  down  in  winter  on  a  bona  fide  sled.  He  was 
a  slender  lad,  with  a  pale  face  ;  but  there  was  in  his  features 
such  an  expression  of  true  worth,  that  I  took  in  his  statement 
at  once. 

I  suppose  there  were  some  two  hundred  boys  and  girls  in 
this  Derbyshire  village,  and  they  had  facilities  in  the  way  of 
coasting  enjoyed  by  no  other  children  outside  of  Switzer- 
land ;  but  they  had  no  sleds.  There  was  not  a  sled  in  the 
whole  village.  They  had  good  skating  and  skates.  It  hurt 
them  worse  to  fall  than  it  does  American  children  ;  for  they 
are  not  so  used  to  it.  You  could  see  at  once,  by  the  awk- 
ward way  they  fell,  that  they  lacked  practice. 

But  the  fact  that  there  were  no  sleds  struck  me  as  being  a 
stupendous  miscalculation  or  mistake  on  the  part  of  Nature. 
I  said  to  a  little  boy,  — 

"  Where's  your  sled?  " 

"  I  ain't  got  one,  sir." 

"  What  do  you  ride  down  hill  on  ?  "  Then  I  hastily  changed 
the  query  to,  "I  mean,  what  do  you  do  for  coasting?"  be- 
cause I  knew  what  he  rode  on. 

"  For  sledding,  sir  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  I  don't  do  it :  I  hain't  got  nothink  to  sled,  sir." 

"Do  all  the  little  boys  here  go  without  sledding?  Don't 
any  of  them  ride -down  hill?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir  !  Some  rides  on  their  feet ;  and  some  has  a 
smooth  stone,  and  rides  on  that." 

Then  I  told  him  what  the  American  boy  resorted  to  when 
he  had  no  sleigh,  —  such  as  an  old  straight-backed  chair,  a 
jumper  made  of  two  staves,  a  length  of  stove-pipe,  or  even  a 


250  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

piece  of  oil-cloth.  I  told  him  how  a  jumper  was  made,  and 
he  went  off  to  see  his  father  about  it.  I  saw  the  old  gentle- 
man the  next  day,  and  asked  him  if  lie  had  fixed  the  boy ; 
but  he  replied  in  the  negative. 

However,  I  was  determined  that  the  jumper  should  be 
made  :  so  I  set  about  to  tell  him  the  way.  I  got  down  on 
my  knees,  and  draughted  the  fabric  on  the  snow.  I  figured 
out  the  expense  at  almost  nothing.  I  enlarged  upon  the  joy 
and  comfort  a  jumper  would  bring  to  his  heir's  heart  with 
all  the  eloquence  I  could  hoist :  but  he  didn't  fire  up  at  all ; 
he  smouldered  away  as  before.  He  thought  it  was  a  good 
idea  to  make  a  jumper;  and  then  he  smiled  feebly,  and 
began  to  talk  of  .\merica.  If  it  wasn't  for  America,  I  could 
make  more  progress  with  this  people. 

These  swift-running  English  trains  have  been  busy  for  the 
three  days  preceding  Christmas,  taking  people  here  and 
there  for  the  holiday.  Along  the  complicated  mass  of  iron 
threads  have  been  woven  the  jolly  gatherings  and  blessed 
re-unions  which  crown  this  day  to  all  hearts.  For  once  in 
the  whole  year  the  railway  octopod  of  England  is  not  a 
feeder  to  London,  but  a  drainer  thereof.  Every  train  which 
leaves  St.  Pancras,  Victoria,  Charing-cross,  \\'aterloo,  and 
Ludgate-hill  stations,  is  loaded  with  the  hopeful  and  fun- 
loving  of  London  people.  They  go  with  bags  and  hampers, 
and  pipes  and  sticks.  There  are  the  old  and  the  joung,  the 
nobleman  and  the  plebeian,  the  merchant  and  the  clerk,  the 
politician  and  the  statesman.  It  is  the  English  Thanksgiv- 
ing,— a  time  for  feasting  and  praise,  for  union  and  congratu- 
lation, for  giving  and  taking. 

But  those  trains  were  full.  The  limit  prescribed  by  law 
was  in  this  case  disregarded,  and  every  seat  held  as  many  as 
it  could ;  while  the  floor  was  fillcil  with  fat  hampers  anil  the 
nervous  feet  of  the  travellers. 

I  never  saw  such  uncomfortable  and  i)leasant  travelling  as 
was  on  the  London  train  down  to  Derbyshire.     There  were 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  25 1 

three  ladies  in  the  compartment ;  and  their  hats  were  on 
wrong,  owing  to  the  crush  :  but  they  laughed  all  the  while. 
One  old  gentleman  laughed  unbrokenly  for  a  half-hour  be- 
cause his  hat  fell  off  and  somebody  stepped  on  it. 

It  was  strictly  an  English  crowd  bent  on  fun,  and  bound 
to  have  it  at  any  sacrifice,  except  of  decency  and  good  tem- 
per. I  was  pinched  up  to  that  extent,  that  I  could  use  only 
one  lung  to  breathe  with ;  but  I  grinned  all  the  way  at  their 
chaffing.  And  we  all  grinned  at  each  other  when  there  was 
nothing  else  to  do.  We  couldn't  help  it.  It  was  like  a 
bursted  pipe  of  good  humor.  It  kept  bubbling  up  and  gush- 
ing forth  without  any  effort  on  our  part. 

I  stood  down  at  the  little  station  the  afternoon  before 
Christmas,  and  saw  three  express-trains  go  by.  They  were 
long  trains,  and  they  were  heavily  laden. 

I  watched  the  signal-post,  and  saw  the  announcement  of 
a  train  passing  the  lower  station  on  its  way  to  us ;  and  then 
I  waited,  and  looked  in  the  direction  of  its  coming. 

Finally  the  front  of  the  locomotive  appeared  around  the 
curve.  The  air  was  full  of  frost.  It  rose  up  in  waves  from 
the  valley,  and  veiled  the  hill-tops  from  sight.  Beneath  this 
canopy  so  white  and  beautiful  came  the  flying  train.  It 
could  not  be  heard.  It  might  have  been  standing  still,  for  all 
the  sound  that  came  to  us ;  but,  as  it  drew  nearer,  we  could 
see  it  vibrate  under  the  mighty  pulsation  of  its  power.  It 
grew  larger  and  larger :  the  vibration  increased  till  it  seemed 
to  be  fairly  staggering  on  its  frail  path.  We  all  instinctively 
drew  back  as  far  as  possible  from  the  track,  while  it  seemed 
as  if  a  weight  were  oppressing  both  brain  and  heart.  It  was 
the  Manchester  Express,  one  half-hour  behind  time.  It  was 
a  seen  but  unheard  monster,  coming  toward  us  with  awful 
velocity. 

Within  fifteen  seconds  of  its  appearance  around  the  curve 
it  shot  through  the  station  with  a  roar  that  was  deafening ; 
and,  before  we  could  catch  our  suspended  breath,  it  had 
plunged  into  the  tunnel,  and  was  gone. 


252  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW, 

"What  rate  of  speed  do  you  call  that?"  said  I  to  my 
friend  the  station-master,  while  I  vainly  strove  to  suppress  a 
shiver. 

"  About  sixty  miles  an  hour ;  it  is  behind  time,  you  see," 
he  explained. 

Nearly  every  home  in  that  Derbyshire  village  was  full  of 
happy  guests.  There  was  happiness  in  the  air  and  in  the 
trees  and  hedges  :  it  flamed  up  in  the  red  cheeks,  and  flashed 
from  the  bright  eyes,  and  rang  out  in  the  hearty  laughter  and 
glad  shouts. 

The  music  commenced  at  midnight.  As  the  two  hands 
of  the  village  clock  met  at  the  figure  twelve,  the  chimes  rang 
out  their  glad  song ;  and  so  the  day  was  ushered  in,  and 
even  its  light  met  and  escorted  into  Derbyshire  by  the  cheery 
bells.  All  through  England,  in  city  and  village  and  hamlet, 
the  Christmas-chimes  were  sounding  out  the  glad  news, 
"  Christmas  has  come  !  " 

And  it  had  come,  the  dear  Christmas  Day  !  It  had  come 
to  this  home  country,  with  its  freight  of  joy  and  domestic 
peace.  It  needed  no  chimes,  no  trumpets,  to  proclaim  to  a 
stranger  the  gladness  of  the  day. 

After  breakfast  the  sounds  of  music  came  up  the  hill.  The 
village  band  were  stationed  in  front  of  the  squire's  house,  and 
were  straining  their  brass  throats  to  the  utmost. 

Through  the  village  streets  went  bands  of  the  musical  vil- 
lagers with  violin  and  cornet,  and  drum  and  cymbal,  stoi)iMng 
here  and  there  to  serenade  a  neighbor,  and  catch  up  the  will- 
ing pennies  to  make  a  Christmas  cheer. 

All  out  doors  was  bright  and  sunshiny,  and  shouting  and 
laughing  ;  while  in  doors  was  bustle  and  business.  The  home 
was  a  miniature  bower.  From  the  walls  hung  v\Teaths  and 
festoons  of  evergreens  ;  and  suspended  thereon  were  mottoes 
and  scriptural  texts,  worked  with  the  glistening  holly-leaves  ; 
and  sprigs  of  holly,  with  the  red  berries  shining  through, 
touched  off  the  windows   and   the   doors.     Drawing-room, 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  253 

dining-room,  and  kitchen  fared  alike.  In  the  first-named 
stood  in  secluded  grandeur  the  Christmas-tree,  bristling  with 
gifts,  and  gleaming  with  white  wax  tapers,  waiting  for  the 
electric  touch  to  turn  the  sombre  green  into  a  dazzling  glare. 
And  in  the  servants'  hall  was  a  destructive  feature  in  a  pendent 
bough  of  mistletoe,  holding  oranges  and  sugar-plums.  There 
it  hung,  an  object  of  apprehensive  delight  to  the  red-cheeked 
maidens  and  the  fat  l)utler  and  his  grinning  corps  of  assist- 
ants. All  through  the  day  the  girls  moved  about,  waiting 
impatiently  for  the  coming  of  the  night ;  while  the  long-joint- 
ed men  and  boys  followed  them  with  their  lecherous  eyes,  or 
winked  audibly  at  the  mistletoe. 

After  nine  o'clock  at  night  the  serenading  parties  increased. 
I  notice  the  negro  character  takes  well  over  here.  Four-fifths 
of  those  engaged  in  playing  and  singing  before  the  houses 
were  arrayed  in  burnt  cork  and  striped  shirts.  Then  the 
principal  instruments  were  banjos,  tambourines,  and  bones. 
I  examined  one  of  the  banjos.  Every  string  was  alike,  and 
stretched  to  varying  tensions.  They  played  on  them,  they 
thumped  them  and  knocked  them,  and  swomg  them  over 
their  heads.  I  listened  to  one  of  them  for  about  ten  min- 
utes, and  then  I  wondered  if  these  people  are  really  opposed 
to  slavery. 

And  so  I  passed  my  English  Christmas,  and  a  pleasanter 
day  it  could  not  be  possible  to  enjoy.  But  they  do  need  a 
Santa  Claus  badly. 

New- Year's  is  not  made  much  of  here,  excepting  in  some 
sections.  In  Yorkshire  and  Lancashire  they  give  presents. 
Manufacturers  and  merchants  are  expected  to  make  presents 
to  their  customers.  Sometimes  one  will  get  off  at  the  trifling 
cost  of  five  pounds  ;  but  others  are  not  so  fortunate.  One 
manufacturer  of  my  acquaintance  was  taxed  one  hundred 
and  thirty  pounds  last  New- Year's,  and  he  says  tender  re- 
membrances are  growing  more  costly  every  year.  It  is  a  sin- 
gular practice ;  but  it  has  the  sanction  of  centuries,  and  is 


254  ENGLAND    FROM    A    HACK-WINDOW. 

very  much  admired  by  the  customers.  If  an  old  woman 
buys  six  shillings'  worth  of  needles  and  tape  in  the  course  of 
the  year  at  a  store,  she  expects  a  present  at  New-Year's. 
Some  of  the  customers  the  dealer  rarely  sees  until  New-Year's 
Day,  when  they  come  in  with  their  unfortunate  patronage. 
But  to  refuse  them  would  be  to  incur  their  enmity,  and  to 
get  up  a  very  undesirable  reputation  in  the  neighborhood. 
And  these  customers  are  rather  particular  in  the  matter  of 
gifts.  If  it  is  not  what  they  expect,  they  freely  discourse  on 
its  demerits,  and  show  a  lively  disposition  to  remain  with  the 
dealer  until  the  mistake  has  been  rectified. 

It  must  be  a  genuine  pleasure  to  do  business  with  a  dis- 
criminating public. 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  255 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

FULL   OF   EXTRAORDINARY   FACTS. 

OF  the  hospitality  of  the  English  people  I  have  already 
spoken  in  as  glowing  terms  as  I  am  capable  of  fram- 
ing. 

It  naturally  follows  that  a  hospitable  people  should  be  good 
eaters.  These  are,  excepting  at  breakfast,  when  a  very  Httle 
does  them.    The  late  supper  is  responsible  for  this,  I  suspect. 

It  is  always  hearty,  and  consists,  quite  frequently,  of  cold 
meat,  fish,  bread  and  butter  (precious  little  butter  the  Eng- 
lish use),  salads,  hot  pickles,  tarts,  and  other  things  calculated 
to  make  a  bilious  party  go  raving  mad  in  the  night ;  and 
the  whole  is  topped  off  with  grog  and  tobacco. 

After  a  man  has  got  one  of  these  suppers  concentrated  in 
the  pit  of  his  stomach,  he  is  in  a  condition  to  commit  almost 
any  atrocity,  and  goes  to  sleep  very  much  in  doubt  if  he  will 
awake  again,  and  somewhat  inclined  to  hope  that  he  will 
not.  Speaking  to  an  English  friend,  after  one  of  these  meals, 
on  the  scarcity  of  butter  and  fresh  bread  at  the  English  table, 
he  explained  that  fresh  bread  and  too  much  butter  disagreed 
with  the  stomach.  I  didn't  say  any  thing  ;  but  I  looked  from 
the  ruins  before  us  up  to  the  clock,  which  marked  eleven  p.m. 

The  English  are  very  careful  of  their  stomachs. 

There  is  an  accompaniment  to  each  meal  which  strikes 
a  stranger  most  forcibly.  It  is  their  way  of  saying  grace. 
They  are  the  suddenest  people  in  this  respect  that  I  ever  saw, 


256  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINnOW. 

and  have  a  way  of  firing  ofT  their  gratitude  which  is  most 
startling.  The  text  is  something  Ukc  this,  —  "  For  what  we 
are  afcout  to  receive  make  us  truly  thankful ; "  and  this,  by 
some  families,  is  slid  in  most  unexpectedly ;  and  it  has  come 
so  rapidly  and  so  abruptly,  that  I  have  occasionally  missed  it 
entirely,  hearing  only  the  word  "  about,"  preceded  and  fol- 
lowed by  a  subdued  whistling.  There  being  no  abatement 
in  the  work  of  the  table  at  the  time  tended  to  make  the  im- 
pression the  less  distinct.  The  giving  of  thanks,  where  it  is 
the  custom,  at  the  end  of  the  meal,  has  frequently  cut  off 
a  mouthful  of  food,  so  swift  and  unostentatious  has  been  its 
coming ;  and  the  conversation  and  happy  laughter  flowed 
along  with  scarcely  a  break  in  its  current,  and  those  who 
were  to  finish  did  so,  and  everybody  felt  contented,  and 
looked  edified. 

This  is  quite  in  contrast  to  our  New- England  fashion  of 
doing  grace.  I  have  sat  under  a  grace  which  froze  the  gravy, 
irretrievably  damaged  the  mutton,  and  imbued  the  greater 
l)art  of  the  guests  with  the  gloomiest  forebodings,  in  which 
the  African  and  the  South-sea  Islander  were  looked  after  and 
secured  beyond  harm,  and  all  political  cabals  were  taken 
under  the  fifth  rib,  completely  dumfounded,  and  their  evil 
machinations  scattered  to  the  four  winds  of  heaven.  It  was 
a  fine  performance,  and  a  good  thing  for  humanity  at  large  ; 
but  it  made  the  dinner  look  sick. 

I  think  I  like  the  English  extreme  the  best ;  but  both  can 
be  bettered,  and  never  will  be. 

'  Another  striking  peculiarity  of  the  English  is  their  polite- 
ness. If  they  don't  hear  your  remark,  they  say,  "  Beg 
pardon  ;"  which  is  much  more  euphonious  than  "What?" 
and,  besides,  delicately  shifts  the  responsibility  of  the  repeti- 
tion from  your  inarticulation  to  their  inattentiveness.  The 
lower  class  are  respectfiil  in  their  answers  ;  and  the  middle, 
like  the  upper  classes,  are  courteous,  if  not  communicative. 
No  half-dozen  people  can  meet  in  the  bar-p:u-lor  of  a  public- 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINnOW.  257 

house  without  becoming  acquainted  ;  and,  in  the  raihvay 
carriages,  no  American  need  be  without  pleasant  chats,  and 
necessary  information  of  the  country  about  him.  When  an 
Englishman  goes  to  America,  he  quite  frequently  finds  a 
different  order  of  things.  He  sees  less  intercommunication 
among  the  occupants  of  his  car.  The  common  man  whom 
he  addresses  may  be  one  who  believes  the  Almighty  made 
him  after  the  most  careful  consideration,  and  the  answers 
will  be  framed  accordingly.  Here  the  people  know  their 
place.  The  boor  is  not  allowed  to  take  precedence  ^f  the 
scholar,  nor  even  assume  a  level  with  him,  however  great  or 
loud  his  pretensions.  But  there  is  a  respectfulness  that  be- 
comes servility,  and  an  independence  that  is  offensiveness. 

In  this  connection  I  must  call  attention  to  the  curious 
fallacy  which  possesses  some  of  these  people,  in  that  they 
limit  to  America  all  the  possibilities  fer  getting  ahead  in  the 
world.  Once  in  America,  and  fortune  or  political  preference 
is  secured.  But  Great  Britain  is  full  of  instances  of  success 
based  alone  on  merit,  unaccompanied  by  position  or  wealth. 
A  newsboy  is  in  their  cabinet.  A  common  gardener  was 
the  architect  ot  the  Crystal  Palace,  and  died  a  knight.  The 
very  owners  of  this  fallacy  have  shown  me  scores  of  wealthy 
neighbors,  who,  within  their  remembrance,  were  once  con- 
fined to  less  than  four  dollars  a  week. 

If  America  has  a  larger  field,  there  is  greater  competition. 
Merit  and  perseverance  will  win  the  goal  anywhere,  or  "  bust  " 
the  universe. 

Despite  the  age  of  this  nation,  and  the  many  advantages  it 
has  enjoyed  in  the  past  three  centuries,  many  of  its  people  are 
bow-legged.  This  is  owing,  I  think,  to  continuous  standing 
on  their  feet  at  an  extremely  early  age,  admiring  the  general 
aspect  of  the  national  debt.  It  is  what  might  be  called  the 
bow-legacy  of  a  national  debt.  There  is  no  present  danger 
of  a  similar  affliction  resting  upon  America.  Our  debt  is  so 
large,  that  we  can  see  it  without  standing  up. 


258  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

Tlie  common  use  of  endearing' terms  in  the  family  circle 
makes  a  lively  impression  on  the  stranger.  "  Love,"  "  lovey," 
and  "  my  love,"  and  "  dear,"  "  deary,"  and  "  my  dear,"  are 
the  popular  and  most  soothing  interchange  of  adjectives,  which 
are  constantly  flying  around  the  domestic  circle.  I  think 
it  is  sometimes  rather  overdone  when,  four  or  five  "  loves  " 
or  "  dears  "  season  a  simple  request.  Yet  it  sounds  infinitely 
better  than  our  "  old  man "  and  "  old  woman,"  or  even 
"  mutton-head."  I  never  knew  the  latter  to  work  well  as  a 
term  of  endearment :  still  it  is  useful. 

Among  the  numerous  things  to  which  we  are  accustomed 
at  home,  but  do  not  see  liere,  are  surprise-parties,  clam-bakcs, 
euchre,  negroes,  seven-up,  and  skunks.  I  have  seen  less 
than  a  half-dozen  Africans  in  England  and  Scotland,  and 
none  of  the  other  articles.  I  inadvertently  mentioned  skunks 
at  a  party  one  evening,  and  was  obliged  to  give  an  elaborate 
description  of  the  shrub,  very  much  to  my  embarrassment, 
I  find  that  the  ladies  here  easily  tire  of  the  topic,  and  crave 
something  else.     I  do  not  press  it  upon  them. 

I  thought  everybody  had  skunks. 

Sewing-machines  are  not  so  common  here,  by  any  means, 
as  they  are  in  free  and  untrammelled  America;  but  they 
are  numerous.  The  English  machine  is  a  very  crude  afTair, 
being  mostly  required  to  be  fastened  to  a  table.  It  sells  for 
from  twelve  to  fifteen  dollars.  The  American  machines  are 
the  most  popular,  like  American  pianos  and  organs.  Wheeler 
&  Wilson's,  Singer's,  Howe's,  and  Willcox  &  Gibbs's,  are  well 
known  here.  They  retail  from  thirty  to  forty  dollars,  or 
some  twenty  dollars  cheaper  than  they  can  be  bought  in  the 
country  where  they  are  manufactured. 

This  is  a  nut  for  the  political  economist  to  mash  his  thumb 
with.  Many  a  man  has  fallen  from  an  upper-story  window 
in  England  without  crippling  several  sewing-machine  agents. 
No  man  has  done  it  in  the  States  in  the  past  ten  years. 

Ijoth  the  post-offices  and  telegraph-offices  are  owned  by 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  259 

the  government,  and  both  are  in  admirable  working-order. 
You  will  see  little  towns  —  so  small  that  the  postmaster  keeps 
the  office  in  his  home  —  having  its  telegraph-wire.  The 
postmaster  must  also  be  an  operator,  unless  his  salary  is  suf- 
ficient to  supply  one  ;  and  he  is  not  appointed  by  every 
new  government,  but  holds  his  office  so  long  as  he  proves 
worthy  of  it.  In  telegraphing,  twenty-five  cents  will  carry 
twenty  words  to  any  part  of  the  kingdom  :  above  that  num- 
ber, it  is  two  cents  a  word.  There  is  still,  however,  a  trifle 
of  old  fogyism  about  the  post-office  department.  Mail-carts 
are  frequently  used  where  the  rail  could  more  effectively  do 
the  work. 

For  instance,  the  mail  from  London  to  the  interior  of  Nor- 
folk County  is  carried  by  rail  to  Ely ;  there  it  is  transferred 
to  carts,  by  which  it  is  carried  to  Lynn,  though  the  rail  runs 
to  Lynn ;  thence  again  by  cart  to  all  the  coast  towns,  fol- 
lowing the  line  of  the  railway.  I  am  not  prepared  to  explain 
this  extraordinary  proceeding. 

The  postmaster-general  is  an  exquisite  any  country  should 
be  proud  of;  but  he  does  not  know  how  to  run  the  mails, 
excepting  by  cart. 

■  There  are  no  wooden  houses  here ;  and  this  fact  recently 
placed  an  English  friend  in  a  rather  embarrassing  position. 
He  had  sojourned  in  the  States  several  years,  and  returned 
to  his  native  land  fully  primed  with  valuable  information. 
Several  nights  after  his  return,  while  entertaining  a  few  friends 
in  a  private  bar-parlor  of  the  White-horse  tavern,  he  ven- 
tured on  the  astounding  assertion,  that  he  had  seen  a  house 
moved  ;  and  becoming  reckless  by  the  horrified  expression 
on  the  faces  of  his  companions,  and  the  utter  impossibility 
of  backing  safely  out,  he  followed  up  the  sensation  by  boldly 
announcing  that  he  had  seen  a  three-story  tenement  going 
down  the  middle  of  a  street.  Immediately  an  oppressive  and 
ominous  silence  fell  upon  the  auditors ;  and  very  soon  they 
arose,  one  by  one,  and,  with  glances  of  significant  pity  on  the 


26o  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

audacious  narrator,  moodily  retired  from  the  room,  leaving 
him  entirely  alone  with  his  seared  conscience.  The  last  one 
to  leave  took  occasion  to  overhaul  his  predecessor  in  the 
entry,  and  to  obser\'e  in  a  gloomy  whisper  that  "that  was 
the  bloodiest  lie  he  had  ever  heard."  And  to  this  day  that 
returned  Englishman  is  eyed  with  suspicion. 

So  much  for  being  observant  and  communicative. 

As  I  have  said  before,  the  English  imbibe  only  plain  drinks, 
and  water  them  fearfully.  But  there  are  two  or  three  Ameri- 
can bars  started  in  London ;  and  they  have  paved  the  way 
for  others,  which  will  soon  follow.  To  be  particular,  there 
are  just  two ;  and  both  are  owned  by  Spiers  and  Pond,  the 
famous  caterers,  and  Great  British  smashers  of  monopolies. 
The  first  one  they  started,  with  their  other  refreshment- 
saloons,  in  the  Kensington  Museum  ;  and  the  second  they 
have  at  the  Criterion  Building,  adjoining  Regent  Circus. 

At  the  front  of  the  Criterion  bar  (which  from  six  o'clock 
Sunday  afternoon  to  eleven  o'clock  Sunday  night,  as  well  as 
at  all  times  on  week-days,  is  in  a  blaze  of  gas,  —  no  ladies 
admitted  after  eight  p.m.)  is  a  little  apartment,  about  ten 
feet  square,  devoted  to  the  concoction  of  American  drinks. 
A  genuine  American,  being  from  Philadelphia,  has  been 
imported  expressly  for  the  purpose.  He  was  rather  lone- 
some the  first  fortnight ;  but  company  is  beginning  to  gild 
his  hours.'  Among  his  drinks  ore  a  few  that  will  possess 
the  attraction  of  novelty,  if  nothing  else,  to  my  American 
readers.  They  are,  sherry  blush,  ladies'  blush,  gin-fix,  bosom- 
caresser,  dog's-nose,  pick-me-up,  gin  and  tansy  (?),  John 
Collins,  rattlesnake,  saddle-rock,  evening  star,  Leo's  own, 
corpse-reviver,  and  fiash-of-lightning.  There  are  forty-eight 
different  kinds  of  drinks  in  all. 

They  marry  and  give  in  marriage  just  as  we  do  ;  only 
they  precede  the  marrying  with  a  form  that  we  do  not.  I 
was  at  an  English  church  in  a  country  village  the  other  day, 
where  the  announcements  of  six  marriages  were  read  by  the 


ENGLAND  FROM  A  BACK-WINDOW.       26 1 

venerable  and  consumptive-looking  clerk.  These  announce- 
ments specified  that  he  and  she  had  come  into  an  agree- 
ment to  unite  their  fortunes  for  life,  if  no  impediment  existed  ; 
and,  if  any  one  in  the  congregation  knew  any  reason  why 
these  two  should  not  be  made  one,  now  was  the  time  to 
rise  and  explain,  or  ever  after  hold  his  peace.  Myself  and 
the  rest  preser\'ed  silence.  These  banns  are  called  the 
number  of  Sundays  the  groom  can  afford,  as  the  clerk  has  to 
be  paid  for  doing  it.  It  is  never  less  than  one  Sunday,  and 
seldom  more  than  three.  The  custom  would  not  do  in 
America. 

You  see  no  cakes  of  ice  on  the  sidewalk  here  ;  and  I  can 
readily  imagine  that  an  American  city  street  in  the  morning 
must  fill  an  Englishman  with  surprise.  An  American  misses 
the  great  variety  of  vegetables,  meats,  and  breads  served  up 
at  his  home  hotel,  and  the  equal  variety  of  mixed  drinks 
dealt  out  at  his  home  bar ;  but  I  think  he  misses  ice  more 
than  all  these.  I  feel  safe  in  asserting  that  seven-eighths  of 
the  bar-rooms,  and  full  that  proportion  of  the  hotels,  are  not 
regularly  supplied  with  ice  ;  and  I  have  yet  to  see  the  restau- 
rant Avith  a  single  pitcher  of  ice-water.  And,  of  the  two 
countries,  England  stands  more  in  need  of  ice  than  we  do, 
as  its  drinking-water  is  generally  inferior. 

They  have  a  singular  custom  here  :  it  is  to  require  the 
party  who  presents  a  five-pound-note  to  indorse  his  name 
on  the  back.  I  have  asked  trades-people  who  have  requested 
me  to  do  this  why  it  is  done  ;  but  they  cannot  explain.  One 
of  them  said,  it  was  in  case  the  note  should  prove  spurious, 
when  he  could  "  come  back  "  on  me  for  it.  As  I  never  saw 
him  before,  and  expected  never  to  see  him  again,  this  seemed 
likely  enough.  And  just  as  if  a  counterfeiter  would  indorse 
his  owTi  name  on  the  note  !  A  trusting  and  childlike  people 
are  they.  The  pound-notes  are  of  white  paper  of  parchment 
appearance.  The  design  is  simple  fines  printed  in  black  ink. 
They  are  so  wonderfully  simple,  that  it  is  difficult  to  associate 
them  \vith  any  value. 


262  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

The  shopman  rings  the  sovereign  on  his  counter,  not  to 
test  its  genuineness,  but  its  soundness.  They  are  afraid  of 
cracked  sovereigns.  I  do  not  know  what  a  cracked  sover- 
eign is,  as  I  have  not  seen  any.  Some  people  say  Queen 
Victoria  is  one. 

Although  the  English  chew  but  little  tobacco,  they  con- 
sume great  quantities  of  the  weed  in  smoking  and  snufifing. 
I  have  seen  a  number  of  young  people  addicted  to  the  latter 
habit.  I  don't  care  who  snuffs,  if  he  will  only  keep  away 
from  my  victuals.  In  many  of  the  old-fashioned  English  inns 
snuff-boxes  or  snuff-horns  are  to  be  found  in  the  smoking- 
room,  from  which  the  guest  helps  himself  without  charge. 
The  same  inn  keeps  a  stock  of  long-stemmed  clay  pipes  on 
hand  for  the  use  of  patrons.  Clay  pipes  are  in  such  favor 
here,  that  some  of  them  are  dignified  with  an  amber  mouth- 
piece. 

A  New- York  manufacturer  of  meerschaum  pipes  once 
told  me  that  he  could  sell  me  a  pipe  as  low  as  I  could  buy 
it  in  Vienna.  He  wanted  ten  dollars  for  one  that  can  be 
bought  here  for  three  dollars  ;  and  they  say  here  that  that 
is  as  cheap  as  it  can  be  bought  in  Vienna.  I  am  obliged 
to  think  the  New- York  man  prevaricated.  But  I  shall  wait 
till  I  reach  Vienna  before  investing  in  a  meerschaum  pipe. 
This  reminds  me  of  an  American  who  was  going  to  buy  a 
pipe  in  Vienna ;  but  he  finally  bouglit  it  here,  as  he  gave  up 
going  to  Vienna,  and  went  back  home,  for  the  extraordinary 
reason  that  he  could  not  get  hash  here.  He  was  so  fond  of 
hash,  that  he  employed  it  at  two  meals  daily.  Here  it  is  not 
in  use,  and  he  made  several  efforts  to  have  it  compounded. 
The  article  they  prepared  had  all  the  ingredients,  but 
seemed  to  lack  that  mystery  which  is  the  chief  charm  of 
hash  ;  and  so  he  gave  up  in  disgust,  and  went  home. 

There  is  another  feature  of  English  life  that  will  rather 
surprise  New-England  i)eople.  They  do  not  lay  in  vege- 
tables in  the  fall  for  winter  use.     What  they  want  they  buy 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  263 

as  they  need ;  and  that  dear  old  November  spectacle  of  put- 
ting a  half-dozen  barrels  to  rights,  and  mashing  your  finger 
in  the  operation,  or  disjointing  your  spine  in  carrying  a  bar- 
rel of  potatoes  down  a  cellar  stairway,  is  never  witnessed 
here.  Their  pork  is  smoked  or  dried,  but  not  corned,  and 
is  called  bacon.  But  then,  as  they  do  not  eat  beans,  why 
should  they  have  salt  pork? 

The  other  day  I  said  to  a  little  girl,  "  What  did  Santa  Claus 
give  you  last  Christmas?" 

"Santa  Claus?  "  said  her  mother. 

"Why,  yes;  don't  you  have  Santa  Claus?"  I  asked  in 
some  consternation. 

"No." 

"We  do,"  I  said  with  enthusiasm.  "We'd  never  think  of 
getting  over  a  Christmas  without  Santa  Claus." 

"  Well,  we  shall  have  Santa  Claus,"  said  she  with  determi- 
nation.    "  How  is  it  made  ?  " 

With  undisguised  sorrow  I  explained  that  Santa  Claus  was 
not  a  Christmas  dish,  but  a  respectable  Dutchman  from  the 
Rhine,  who  had  emigrated  to  America,  been  naturalized,  and 
was  now  the  crowned  king  of  the  children.  And  these  peo- 
ple never  even  heard  of  the  dear  saint,  and  in  all  these  gen- 
erations have  gone  to  bed  of  a  Christmas  Eve  with  their 
stockings  on  ! 

The  bloody,  blasted  beggars  !  as  they  say. 


264  ENGLAND    FROM    A    DACK-WINUOW. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

BRINGS   US   INTO   SCOTLAND. 

IT  was  evening,  and  raining,  when  we  reached  Edinburgh  ; 
and  the  drive  down  the  main  street  (Princess)  to  the  hotel 
was  by  a  bank  of  closed  and  dripping  shops,  with  an  occa- 
sional street-light  to  show  up  the  moisture  and  the  puddles. 
I  got  to  bed  early,  after  vainly  looking  for  the  tiers  of  lights 
which  I  was  told  streamed  in  a  weird  blaze  from  the  lofty 
buildings  of  Scotland's  fair  city. 

I  had  heard  so  much  of  the  elevated  location  of  Edinburgh, 
that  I  was  prepared  not  to  enjoy  my  sojourn  there.  I  do 
not  like  to  climb  precipitous  streets ;  and  sitting  behind  a 
horse,  and  seeing  him  straining  in  tlie  ascent  until  the  effort 
reverses  the  pupils  of  his  eyes,  is  a  torture  I  shrink  from. 

I  did  wonder  how  near  the  station  was  to  the  city  (for,  of 
course,  the  train  could  not  ascend  the  hill  into  the  city);  and 
I  also  speculated  whether  there  would  be  eight,  or  on)}'  four, 
horses  attached  to  the  cabs. 

Edinburgh  is  built  upon  three  parallel  ridges.  The  central 
ridge  commences  in  the  flat  where  HoljTood  Palace  stands, 
and  gradually  ascends,  forming  the  old  High  Street,  until  it 
abruptly  terminates  in  a  mass  of  rock,  with  a  front  altitude 
of  three  hundred  feet  or  so.  This  ridge  is  about  a  mile  in 
length.  The  rock  contains  the  famous  Edinburgh  Castle  ; 
and  the  three  oi)en  sides  are  so  steep,  that  it  seems  to  be 
impossible  of  ascent.     The  rock  is  just  as  it  was  in  aiJi)ear- 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  265 

ance  the  day  it  was  formed,  there  having  been  no  attempt 
whatever  to  smooth  and  adorn  its  rugged  sides.  The  ridge, 
and  the  ravme  on  the  south  which  forms  the  street  called 
Cowgate,  are  the  Old  Town.  The  ridge  on  the  north  runs 
counter  to  the  central.  It  is .  also  broader,  and  has  less 
ascent ;  in  fact,  the  ascent  is  hardly  noticed.  It  terminates 
in  a  huge  knoll  called  Calton  Hill,  where  are  several  monu- 
ments, a  good  view  of  the  entire  city,  and  a  singular  failure 
to  establish  a  Parthenon.  Edinburgh  people  have  long  been 
convinced  that  all  their  city  needed  to  be  an  Athens  was  a 
Parthenon  :  so  on  Calton  Hill,  their  Acropolis,  they  started 
the  Parthenon,  and  only  abandoned  it  when  they  discovered 
that  their  means  were  not  co-equal  with  their  zeal.  Every 
family  should  have  a  Parthenon.  They  are  nice  to  stand  in 
when  it  rains.  This'  north  ridge  is  the  New  Town.  The 
Edinburgh  of  to-day  exists  mostly  on  the  north  ridge.  Its 
main  and  front  street  is  Princes.  It  is  a  broad  avenue  of 
shops  and  hotels  on  one  side,  and  the  terraced  park  which 
skirts  its  side  of  the  ravine  on  the  other.  Its  buildings  face 
the  Old  To\\Ti.  Back  of  and  parallel  with  it  are  several 
broad  avenues  of  residences,  and  cutting  across  are  similar 
streets.  These,  with  their  buildings,  remind  me  of  upper 
New  York,  they  are  so  quiet  and  so  select.  The  Old  Town  is 
much  different  in  appearance  and  occupation  from  the  new. 
Its  houses  are  from  five  to  ten  stories  in  height,  built  of 
block  stone,  or  of  chip  stone  covered  with  concrete,  with 
sharp  crow-step  gables,  narrow  windows,  low  doorways, 
stone  floors,  and  frequently  circular  stone  stairways.  Take 
the  natural  elevation  of  the  site,  with  the  extraordinary 
height  of  the  buildings  and  their  rock-like  simplicity,  and 
you  have  in  the  Old  Town  an  imposing  city  indeed. 

The  side  of  the  ravine  facing  the  New  Town  is  altogether 
too  steep  and  too  brief  to  permit  of  "  roof  towering  above 
roof  in  castellated  array,"  as  some  one  \\Tites.  I  have 
looked  over  there  several  hundred  times ;  but  I  can  see  but 


266  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

hvo  tiers  of  roof  really.  Still  the  imposing  feature  is  there, 
and  cannot  be  denied.  But  it  is  all  in  the  location.  There 
is  no  more  architectural  merit  to  the  buildings  than  there  is 
to  an  ice-chest.  They  are  quaint-looking,  but  no  more. 
If  you  ever  assisted  in  ge.tting  an  ice-chest  up  a  back 
stairway,  you  may  have  noticed  some  quaint  features  about 
it.  As  for  "  the  tiers  of  weird  light  shimmering  in  the  dark- 
ness like  a  tiara  of  diamonds,"  it  is  a  good  idea;  but  it  isn't 
30.  I  had  the  impression,  from  this  and  similar  misrei)re- 
sentations,  that  the  occupants  of  the  various  floors,  or  flats 
as  they  are  called  here,  had  innumerable  gas-jets  to  work  in 
every  room.  I  didn't  know  then,  as  I  well  do  now,  that 
many  of  the  possessors  of  those  flats  are  too  poor  to  keep 
their  linen  clean,  and  are  only  too  thankful  to  have  a  bed  to 
crawl  into,  without  the  aid  of  a  tallow  dip  even. 

The  Old  Town  is  hoary  \vith  age,  and  is  builded  like 
nothing  we  can  show  in  America.  But  these  people  will 
persist  in  showing  you  their  new  features.  They  don't  real- 
ize that  we  of  America  have  more  and  better  than  they  can 
produce ;  and  that,  tiring  of  the  elegance  and  sjilendor,  we 
have  come  here  to  see  and  feast  on  the  antique  and  unique 
of  Europe.  When  I  was  revelling  in  the  broad  level  fields 
and  straight  smooth  roads  of  Norfolk,  they  would  talk  of 
nothing  but  the  glorious  peaks  and  mountains  and  glens  and 
ridges  of  Derbyshire.  Hills  indeed  !  A  high  old  variety 
hills  form  to  a  New-Englander  ! 

The  main  street  of  the  Old  Town  is  full  of  business  and 
tenements ;  but  the  former  is  entirely  composed  of  small 
retail-shops,  patronized  exclusively  by  the  straitened  tenants 
of  the  dirty  and  gloomy  and  homely  tenements. 

The  whole  length  of  the  High  Street,  from  the  palace  to 
the  castle,  is  punctured  with  lanes,  some  of  them  nmning 
through  to  the  Cannongate  Backs  and  Cowgate,  and  others 
ending  in  courts.  Some  of  them  are  wide  enough  for  four 
people  to  walk  abreast ;  others  are  barely  three  feet  in  width. 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  26/ 

All  of  them  are  lined  with  tenements.  They  are  called 
closes  and  wynds  ;  but  the  former  is  the  more  proper  name. 
How  human  beings  can  remain  in  such  places,  eating  and 
sleeping,  surrounded  by  the  close,  dark  atmosphere,  and  not 
be  smothered  by  the  stench,  is  something  I  do  not  under- 
stand. Advocates'  Close,  to  look  down  it,  shows  but  a  ribbon 
of  light  at  the  other  end ;  but  in  some  places  it  is  nearly 
five  feet  wide.  Such  breadths  must  be  genuine  plazas  to  the 
inhabitants,  although  it  must  worry  them  to  see  so  much 
space  going  to  waste.  White-horse  Close,  down  near  the 
Tolbooth,  opens  in  through  an  arch  under  one  of  the  street- 
buildings.  Passing  through,  the  visitor  comes  into  a  court. 
The  buildings  which  line  its  sides  are  but  two  low  stories 
high ;  but  they  are  very,  very  old.  Even  a  smart  coat  of 
whitewash  cannot  conceal  the  wrinkles  which  several  hun- 
dred years  have  wTOught  on  their  surface.  They  are  full  of 
little  gables  and  turrets,  with  dormer-windows  irregularly  set 
in  their  long,  sloping  roofs.  They  are  massively  built,  with 
tremendous  stone  stairs  leading  up  into  them.  On  one  of 
the  stoops  is  a  sore-eyed  man  playing  a  violin.  On  the 
other  stoops,  and  over  the  pavement  of  the  court,  are  children 
in  short  clothes,  wallowing  about,  begrimed  mth  dirt,  and 
inquisitively  tasting  every  thing  in  reach.  There  is  a  little 
puddle  of  green  water  in  the  centre  of  the  court, — the  emp- 
tyings from  some  wash-tub,  I  should  judge,  if  there  were  any 
thing  else  in  sight  to  corroborate  the  evidence  of  a  wash-tub, 
—  and  in  it  one  of  the  dirtiest  of  the  filthy  lot  is  sailing  a 
bit  of  pasteboard ;  and  another  is  dipping  up  the  liquid  in 
his  hands,  and  pouring  it  over  his  own  head.  It  is  unguided 
instinct  telling  him  he  ought  to  be  washed.  At  the  back 
end  is  a  double  house  ;  at  least,  it  has  two  half-moon  turrets 
at  the  front,  with  a  stoop  between  that  branches  off  half  way 
up,  and  ascends  into  both  of  them.  There  are  three  old 
nien  and  one  old  woman  on  the  stair  and  its  branches.  One 
of  the  old  men  is  asleep ;  another  is  smoking  a  short  clay 


268  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

pipe  ;  the  third  sits  with  his  chin  in  his  hands,  thinking  of 
the  poUtical  dissensions  in  Japan.  The  old  woman  is  spht- 
ting  up  a  piece  of  wood  with  a  heavy  knife.  To  the  right 
of  the  stoop,  and  below,  one  of  the  turrets,  are  two  doors,  or 
rather  doorways,  as  I  can  see  no  doors.  Several  children 
are  tumbling  from  the  pavement  down  through  them.  On 
the  left  of  the  stoop,  and  beneath  the  other  turret,  is  a  narrow 
passage  into  the  North  Back  of  Cannongate.  Pick  your  way 
through  it  carefully,  as  its  floor  is  covered  with  filth. 

This  is  a  prototype  of  the  closes  and  the  wynds,  whether 
they  be  off  the  High  Street  or  the  Cowgate,  excepting  that 
the  buildings  in  most  of  the  others  tower  up  to  a  much 
greater  height.  There  are  drunken,  brawling  men  and  wo- 
men, idiots,  cripples,  loathsomely-scarred  people,  prostitutes 
arrayed  in  gaudily-striped  petticoats  or  skirts,  dirty,  crying 
children,  and,  among  all,  the  decent  poor,  struggling  against 
poverty  and  crime  for  bread  to  enable  them  to  stay  longer 
in  the  misery,  and  to  endure  more  of  it. 

Such  is  life,  here  and  everywhere. 

It  is  Saturday  evening  on  the  High  Street.  As  far  as  you 
can  see  down  it  or  up  it  are  masses  of  humans.  Hardly  a 
vehicle  can  be  seen.  The  very  pavement  is  hidden  beneath 
their  moving  forms.  Here,  sitting  against  a  pump,  is  a  blind 
man  playing  on  a  windy  demon  called  bag]:)ipes  ;  but  a  few 
feet  from  him  are  a  family  of  five,  bringing  good  music  out 
of  as  many  violins ;  near  to  them  are  two  girls,  with  young 
forms  and  old  faces  and  pinched  features,  singing  in  a 
trained,  cracked  voice  that  hurts  my  heart  more  than  its 
offends  my  ear ;  and  but  a  short  distance  below  is  a  strolling 
brass  band.  I  never  saw  a  place  like  Edinburgh  for  street- 
music.  All  the  main  thoroughfares  are  alive  with  it  every 
pleasant  evening.  The  brass  bands  play  British  tunes,  which 
are  not  always  good.  They  are  Ciermans.  The  sojiranos 
must  be  Irish,  as  they  sing  but  little  else  than  Killarney.  The 
others  are  Italians,  French,  &c.     Edinburgh  is  the  crucible 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  269 

for  actors  and  writers,  so  claimed  :  I  am  generous  enough 
to  award  them  the  musicians  as  well ;  otherwise  I  do  not 
understand  why  there  should  be  so  much  more  of  them  here 
than  in  any  other  city  in  Britain. 

We  may  walk  down  the  whole  length  of  the  High  Street, 
and  see  no  abatement  of  the  crowd  or  of  the  squalor. 
The  high  buildings  are  closely  tenanted  ;  and  from  many  of 
the  windows  young  children,  pipe-smoking  men,  and  croon- 
ing old  women,  are  leaning  out,  and  staring  stolidly  down 
upon  the  animation  below  them. 

You  and  I  could  not  live  there.  Why  do  they?  Simply 
because  they  can  get  a  room  here  for  from  eightpence  to  a 
shilling  and  eightpence  a  week ;  in  our  language,  from  eight 
dollars  and  thirty-two  cents  to  eighteen  dollars  and  seventy- 
two  cents  a  year.  It  is  rarely  that  a  family  needs  more  than 
one  room  ;  and  to  be  centrally  located  in  a  ten-story  build- 
ing, within  five  minutes'  walk  of  the  post-office  and  principal 
theatres,  is  no  unworthy  object  in  this  life.  And  the  price  is 
dreadfully  cheap. 

Cowgate,  as  I  have  said,  runs  from  the  inverse  apex  of  the 
south  ravine.  It  has  the  same  buildings  and  courts  and 
closes  as  figure  along  High  Street ;  but  it  is  more  obscure 
than  High  Street,  and  of  itself  is  sufficiently  filthy  without 
the  auxiliaries.  It  has  been  rendered  much  darker  than  it 
was  by  the  throwing  of  ponderous  arch  bridges  over  it  at 
stated  intervals,  to  make  easier  communication  across  the 
city.  I  went  through  there  at  a  little  after  midnight.  The 
liquor  places  had  been  closed  since  eleven  o'clock ;  but  the 
drunkenness  was  intense.  Such  yelling  and  cursing  and 
clawing,  by  men,  women,  and  children,  I  never  before  wit- 
nessed. It  was  both  harrowing  and  deafening.  I  believe  I 
am  safe  in  saying,  that,  within  a  space  of  ten  minutes,  I  saw 
thirty  women  with  blackened  eyes  and  bruised  faces ;  and 
I  care  not  to  give  the  number  of  men,  tattered  and  bleeding, 
who  passed  me.     I  shinned  up  out  of  that  locality  without 


270  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

wickedly  wasting  time,  you  can  bet ;  that  is,  you  may  be 
sure.  I  have  been  among  the  British  people  so  long,  that 
I  find  I  am  becoming  quite  slangy.  I  must  break  myself 
of  it. 

The  High  Street  is  a  mile  long.  I  do  not  know  where 
you  will  find  a  mile  equally  famous  in  history.  '  It  is  called 
the  Old  Town.  "  Bloody  Ridge  "  would  be  far'more  appro- 
priate. I  don't  know  how  old  Edinburgh  is  ;  but  it  was  a 
village  well  known  twelve  hundred  years  ago  ;  and  before  the 
advent  of  the  Romans,  three  hundred  years  previous  to  that, 
it  is  said  there  was  a  fortress  on  the  rock.  As  executions  as 
well  as  imprisonments  occurred  at  fortresses,  it  is  safe  to 
believe  that  the  wonderful  hill  or  ridge  commenced  to  run 
blood  before  the  Star  of  Bethlehem  appeared ;  and  the 
current  thus  set  to  going  abated  but  little  until  the  advent  of 
the  past  century. 

There  have  been  beheadings  and  gibbetings,  and  hangings 
and  stabbings,  and  burnings  and  murders,  in  about  every 
form  suggested  by  devilish  ingenuity,  perpetrated  within  the 
boundaries  of  that  decaying  and  odorous  street. 

Its  walls  have  resounded  to  the  mightiest  eloquence,  wit- 
nessed the  grandest  heroism,  and  shut  in  upon  the  most  ter- 
rible despair,  a  country  ever  knew. 

Here  the  imperishable  Knox  waged  his  battle  of  the  Ref- 
ormation. Here  the  noble  Argyle  marched  bravely  to  his 
shameful  death.  Here  the  assassins  of  King  James  rode, 
and  suffered  their  exquisite  torture,  and  met  their  terrible 
fate.  Here  men,  torn  from  their  family  and  friends,  beat  out 
their  lives  against  their  prison  bars.  Here  have  been  plots 
and  counterplots ;  and  here  a  kingdom  has  been  lost  and 
won,  and  deeds  done  which  have  brought  immeasurable  grief 
and  agony  to  thousands  of  homes. 

They  are  hawking  fish  here  to-day,  antl  playing  on  fiddles, 
and  singing  wretched  songs,  and  getting  drunk,  and  raising 
the  devil  generally. 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  2/1 

What  a  people  ! 

Beginning  at  the  castle,  I  took  a  stroll  clown  the  street, 
Wliat  I  saw  at  the  castle  I  cannot  tell  you.  I  have  told 
you  that  it  is  on  a  monstrous  rock.  Its  outer  walls  are  so 
near  the  edge  of  it,  and  join  it  so  neatly,  as  to  make  the  two 
almost  indistinguishable.  It  is  a  broken  mass  of  buildings, 
not  very  castellated  in  appearance,  buUooking  like  a  respect- 
able arsenal,  winking  lazily  at  the  past,  and  yawning  dread- 
fully in  the  face  of  the  future.  I  was  one  of  a  party  who 
went  over  it  under  the  charge  of  a  guide.  That  is  about 
all  I  can  confidently  assert  in  regard  to  the  expedition. 
Going  over  these  old  castles  under  the  guidance  of  the  au- 
tomatons supplied  for  the  purpose  is  a  dreary  and  unsatisfac- 
tory process.  The  guide  has  one  programme ;  and  he  goes 
over  it  just  as  he  would  go  over  a  treadmill  after  two  years' 
practice,  —  accurately  enough,  but  lacking  enthusiasm.  After 
you  get  out,  you  naturally  look  around  for  somebody  to 
knock  down. 

Rare  old  Ben  Jonson  and  Boswell  once  lived  on  this  street. 
Hume  the  historian  was  also  a  resident  here.  You  wouldn't 
believe  it,  to  look  at  the  present  tenants,  and  smell  the  smell 
that  the  opening  of  a  door  reveals.  The  house  is  still  here 
where  Scotland's  brightest  poetic  genius,  Robbie  Bums,  held 
his  "festivals."  About  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  the 
neighbors  used  to  wake  up  and  curse  that  Burns  chap  from 
the  country. 

Edinburgh  people  think  that  the  chief  rehc  of  the  Old 
Town  is  St.  Giles's  Church.  It  is  a  curious  building,  not  so 
from  design,  but  from  its  use.  It  is  divided  into  three  sepa- 
rate places  of  worship,  and  consequently  has  three  con- 
gregations, and  three  pastors,  and  three  separate  church 
governments.  There  are  several  combinations  of  the  kind  in 
Scotland.  The  wings  which  flank  the  tower  are  of  but  little 
interest  historically.  The  central  portion  is  that  which  is 
shown  as  where  Knox  preached.     It  is  not  a  large  room,  and 


272  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW, 

seems  still  less  than  it  is  by  the  wonderfully  high  boxes  which 
serve  as  pews.  The  woman  who  has  charge  of  it  pointed  out 
the  elevated  pulpit  as  that  from  which  Knox  thundered  his 
l)hili])pics.  The  same  pulpit,  complete,  is  in  the  museum ; 
and  pieces  of  it  can  be  found  in  every  collection  of  relics 
throughout  Scotland.  These  things  rather  confuse  me.  Back 
of  the  church  are  the  former  parliament-buildings,  and  be- 
tween the  two  is  a  paved  sciuare.  You  would  hardly  believe 
it ;  but  John  Knox  is  buried  here.  Near  the  centre  of  the 
square  is  a  reddish  block  of  stone  set  into  the  pavement ;  and 
on  its  face,  in  brass,  are  two  letters,  — J.  K.  Carriage-wheels 
go  over  it,  the  foot  of  every  pedestrian  treads  upon  it,  —  the 
grave  of  John  Knox. 

But  it  is  a  joke,  dear  reader,  —  an  Edinburgh  joke.  This 
square  stone,  sunk  to  a  level  with  the  pavement,  is  not  John 
Knox's  tomb.  His  tomb  is  on  Princess  Street,  —  a  structure 
worthy  of  the  greatness  of  the  man.  But  the  facetious  Edin- 
burghers  say  that  this  is  John  Knox's  sepulchre,  and  that 
the  magnificent  monument  in  the  Princess-street  Park  is 
erected  to  the  memory  of  a  party  named  Scott,  a  concocter 
of  amusing  fiction.  Did  you  ever  hear  any  thing  like  that  ? 
Now,  if  they  had  assigned  this  beautiful  memorial  to  Duncan 
Forbes,  or  even  George  the  Fourth,  the  joke  would  have  taken 
well ;  but  in  the  present  instance  the  absurdity  is  so  great,  that 
it  defeats  its  puqjose.  But  the  Scotch  people  don't  care. 
They  are  so  set  in  their  principles,  and  so  jealous  of  the  reputa- 
tion of  their  great  reformer,  and  so  appreciative  of  the  results 
of  his  struggle,  that  they  think  they  can  joke  as  absurdly  as 
possible,  without  danger  of  being  misrepresented.  It  was  a 
cunning  idea  to  make  the  J.  K.  over  this  water  or  gas  main 
(for  one  or  the  other  it  undoubtedly  is)  in  the  old  English 
style,  —  I.  K.  It  is  a  wink  in  stone,  being  the  initials  of  "  I 
know." 

Close  to  this  spot,  with  the  tail  of  his  horse  gracefully 
sweeping  over  it,  is  an  equestrian  statue  to  Charles  the  Second, 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  273 

with  a  fulsome  eulogy  to  his  virtue  and  statesmanship.  It 
was  not  put  there  to  do  honor  to  that  giddy  and  dissipated 
prince,  but  as  an  auxiliary  to  the  Knox  joke.  And  it  an- 
swers the  purpose  well ;  for  ninety-five  out  of  every  hundred 
strangers  taken  to  the  spot  "lets  out"  something  like  — 

"  What !  put  up  an  elaborate  statue  to  that  old  rip,  and 
allow  Knox  to  moulder  beneath  his  horse's  heels,  with  ten 
pounds  of  sandstone  to  mark  the  spot?" 

And  in  high  dudgeon  the  visitor  stalks  away,  and  the 
noble  Scotchman  laughs  slyly  in  his  sleeve. 

Farther  below  is  John  Knox's  house.  It  partly  sets  out  in 
the  street,  and  is  a  four-story,  antique,  many-gabled  building. 
A  cigar-store  is  on  the  first  floor.  The  building  is  kept  just 
as  Knox  left  it  three  hundred  years  ago,  and  is  shown  to  vis- 
itors for  the  mild  figure  of  a  sixpence.  On  the  angle  toward 
us,  just  over  the  cigar-store,  is  a  wooden  effigy,  supposed  to 
be  a  representation  of  Knox.  I  have  found  out  subsequently 
that  it  is  not  Knox,  but  a  figure  of  Moses.  I  thought  the 
face  had  a  familiar  look. 

Knox  was  a  merry  man,  despite  his  arduous  work.  It 
is  said  of  him,  that  during  his  last  illness,  and  having  com- 
pany, he  bade  the  servant  to  broach  a  fresh  cask  of  wine 
which  had  been  presented  to  him,  that  he  might  enjoy  some 
of  it  with  his  friends,  as  "  he  was  not  like  to  tarry  till  it  be 
finished." 

Near  Knox's  house  is  one  of  those  massive,  box-shaped 
pumps  so  common  here.  It  is  the  author  of  an  incident 
supposed  to  be  characteristic  of  Scotch  humor.  There  was 
a  woman  who  was  suspected  of  many  thefts  ;  but  no  respon  - 
sibility  could  be  fastened  upon  her.  She  had  a  lover,  who, 
from  a  brain  defect,  was  called  "  Daft  Jimmy."  In  despair 
of  detecting  the  woman,  the  police  seized  on  "  Daft  Jimmy," 
and,  after  a  night's  confinement,  proceeded  to  worm  the 
secret  out  of  him.  But  not  a  syllable  would  he  give,  until 
there  were  brought  to  him   the   provost   and   magistrates. 


274  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

Those  dignitaries,  realizing  the  importance  of  the  intelligence, 
lost  no  time  in  coming  to  Jimmy. 

"  Now,"  said  the  provost  with  breathless  interest. 

"There  will  no  harm  come  to  me?  "  asked  the  traitor. 

They  solemnly  assured  him  that  not  a  hair  of  his  head 
should  be  harmed.  Still  he  hesitated,  —  probably  because 
he  was  bald,  and  did  not  consider  the  figure  of  speech 
exactly  applicable  to  the  occasion. 

Again  they  assured  him  that  he  should  not  suffer. 

He  looked  anxiously  over  their  faces  for  a  moment,  and, 
apparently  assured  of  their  sincerity,  said,  — 

"  Ye  ken  the  well  anent  Knox's  house  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Jimmy,"  they  responded. 

"  The  square  wan  ?  " 

"Yes,  Jimmy." 

'"  Do  ye  ken  the  handle  ?  " 

"Yes,  Jimmy"  (with  marked  eagerness). 

"Could  ye  lift  it?" 

"  Yes,  Jimmy,"  in  (juivering  voices, 

"  Well,  go  pump  it  then  ;  for  ye'll  not  pump  me." 

The  audience  dispersed. 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  275 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

EDINBURGH   STILL   FURTHER   CONSIDERED. 

OLIVER  CROMWELL,  the  Scotch  kings,  Dr.  Johnson, 
Bums,  Allan  Ramsay,  Mary  Queen  of  Scots,  and  a 
host  of  other  celebrities,  have  lived  here.  It  don't  look  like 
it  now.  And  it  is  still  more  remarkable,  that  nearly  all  these 
grim  and  grimed  tenements  were  the  homes  of  Edinburgh's 
aristocracy.  A  Scotch  friend  who  took  me  over  this  portion 
of  the  city,  and  gave  me  much  pleasant  information  regard- 
ing it,  made  a  very  apt  remark  in  saying  that  his  people 
went  to  extremes  in  personal  habits  :  they  were  either  exces- 
sively clean,  or  excessively  dirty. 

Here,  to-day,  slops  are  emptied  into  many  of  the  streets, 
and  nuisances  are  committed  with  a  freedom  and  frequency 
that  are  revolting.  Centuries  ago,  when  the  feudal  lords 
had  their  city  residences  here,  they  spent  the  day  in  hunting, 
and  the  night  in  feasting.  Each  guest  helped  himself  to  the 
roast,  cutting  off  choice  pieces  with  his  dirk,  and  masticating 
them  with  his  fingers  and  teeth.  After  the  eating,  the  liquors 
were  brought  on  ;  and,  filled  to  the  brim  with  the  inflammable 
stuff,  the  guest  forthwith  dropped  from  his  chair,  and  rolled 
under  the  table,  and  went  to  sleep  unostentatiously.  The 
animals  slaughtered  sprinkled  their  blood  on  the  stairs,  or 
smeared  it  against  the  wall ;  and  refuse  was  dumped  into 
the  back-yard,  or  left  in  the  street,  —  the  condemndest  spec- 
tacle you  ever  saw,  as  the  historian  Hume  has  observed. 


276  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WIN'OOW. 

As  years  went  round  on  their  ceaseless  course  the  people 
became  more  polished  and  refmed,  and  dressed  their  meat 
at  proper  places,  and  introduced  forks  and  more  liquors,  and 
procured  vessels  to  hold  the  slops  until  they  could  get  time 
to  empty  them  out  of  the  front  drawing-room  window. 

It  is  singular  the  great  number  of  temperance  hotels  in 
this  thoroughfare.  There  are  no  less  than  a  dozen  of  them. 
In  the  midst  of  the  nmi  and  ruin  they  rear  their  brazen 
fronts. 

But,  after  all,  it  is  a  pleasant  place  to  visit,  because  of  its 
antiquities.  One  seems  to  never  tire  of  looking  at  them,  and 
speculating  on  their  past.  Some  important  ones  have  been 
torn  down  in  the  past  few  years  ;  and  the  city-improvement 
society  is  already  at  work  on  others.  Those  standing  are 
strong  enough  to  sustain  ihemsehes  for  a  thousand  years  to 
come  ;  but,  fifty  years  hence,  precious  few  of  them  will  be 
in  existence.  The  hand  of  improvement  is  spreading  its 
vampire  fingers  over  the  fabrics,  and  constantly  compressing 
their  limits. 

Holyrood  Palace,  which  everybody  goes  to  see,  is  impor- 
tant now  only  as  it  contains  relics  of  the  past ;  but  it  was 
once  a  significant  building,  and  has  a  history  that  should, 
and  undoubtedly  will,  preserve  it  as  long  as  one  stone  re- 
mains upon  another.  It  contains  a  picture-galler)'  of  the 
kings  of  Scotland  for  the  past  two  thousand  centuries.  They 
were  ordinary-looking  men,  and  only  needed  shaving,  and 
their  hair  cut,  to  make  them  presentable  pedestrians  for  the 
streets  of  the  nineteenth  century.  The  portraits  may  be 
considered  accurate,  as  they  were  painted  after  several  hun- 
dred years  of  anxious  study  by  the  artist.  There  were  sev- 
eral pictures  of  Robert  Bruce,  and  a  mighty  hard  struggle  to 
spell  his  name  in  mongrel  English  or  Latin.  They  had  it 
Evgenvis  Robertvis  Brvssivs.  I  don't  know  what  Evgenvis 
was  for ;  but  I  presume  it  was  where  they  ploughed  around 
to  get  a  start.     From  the  picture-gallery  is  a  passage  leading 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  2// 

into  the  tower,  and  on  the  floors  above  are  shown  the  apart- 
ments of  Queen  Mary  and  her  unfortunate  husband  Lord 
Darnley,  Darnley's  rooms  were  on  the  floor  below  those  of 
his  wife.  For  some  time  she  had  neglected  him,  —  even  to 
shutting  him  out  from  her  chambers,  when  a  favorite,  an 
Italian  named  Rizzio,  was  admitted.  They  had  many  quar- 
rels, when  he  would  talk  back,  and  she  would  throw  skillets 
and  rolling-pins.  I  never  heard  any  one  say  so ;  but  I  am 
married  myself.  Mary  was  a  schemer  (being  a  widow  be- 
fore marrying  Darnley)  ;  and  Rizzio  was  a  schemer  also,  in 
the  interests  of  France  and  Spain.  The  Scotch  nobility 
became  alarmed  at  the  influence  of  the  foreigner  over  their 
queen,  and  several  of  them  conspired  together  to  hang  him 
to  the  city  cross.  Darnley  was  glad  of  the  opportunity ; 
and,  the  night  the  conspirators  came  to  the  palace,  he  met 
them  in  this  little  room  where  he  slept  (and  where  I  am  now 
staring  at  the  walls),  and  conducted  them  up  a  private  stair- 
way to  the  audience-chamber.  Off  from  the  audience-cham- 
ber opens  a  little  room,  said  to  be  the  supper-room  of  the 
queen.  She  was  there  with  Rizzio  when  the  conspirators 
came  in  and  told  Rizzio  that  tha,t  was  no  place  for  him.  The 
queen  sprang  to  her  feet ;  and  the  Italian,  with  characteristic 
courage,  fell  on  his  knees  behind  her.  They  were  up  to  a 
trick  or  two  in  those  days  that  we  think  we  have  originated. 
Rizzio  put  his  arm  about  Mary's  waist,  and  clung  tenaciously 
to  her :  whereupon  one  of  the  party  just  bent  back  his 
middle  finger,  and  Mr.  R.  let  go  at  once.  I  have  been  led 
to  drop  articles  I  had  become  attached  to  by  the  same  con- 
vincing argument.  Darnley  then  held  his  wife ;  and  Rizzio 
was  pulled  out  of  the  room,  and  dragged  across  the  audience- 
chamber,  their  daggers  plying  into  his  shrinking  and  writh- 
ing body  at  every  step.  At  the  door  they  finished  him.  It 
was  an  awful  murder,  and  we  are  apt  to  condemn  the  perpe- 
trators. But  we  cannot  properly  understand  and  appreciate 
the  cause  for  it.     Perhaps  Rizzio  owned  a  hand-organ  :  Ital- 


2/8  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

ians  do.  However,  it  would  have  been  much  better  if 
Darnley  had  made  the  quarrel  his  own,  and  brought  a  civil 
suit  against  Rizzio  for  sixty  thousand  dollars'  damages  and 
costs. 

If  this  was  her  supper-room  she  was  a  slow  queen,  and 
had  fallen  far  behind  her  French-court  education.  It  is  an 
irregular-shaped  apartment,  and  hardly  large  enough  for 
four  people  to  eat  a  baked  apple  within  it. 

Her  bedroom  was  not  extensive  ;  but  it  must  have  been  a 
handsome  apartment  when  the  tinsel  and  lustre  of  its  tapes- 
try were  in  their  prime.  The  bed  is  still  here,  —  a  four-poster, 
with  a  canoi)y  and  hangings,  and  an  elaborate  spread  over 
it ;  but  every  thing  is  tarnished  by  the  three  hundred  years 
that  have  expired  since  they  were  new. 

But  the  visitor  is  staggered  on  looking  into  what  was  the 
fair  queen's  dressing-room.  It  is  an  apartment  that  no  two 
women  could  lace  their  shoes  in ;  and  how  she,  with  her 
stiff  bodice,  lace  furbelows,  and  long  train,  ever  turned 
around  after  getting  into  the  room,  and  got  out  again,  is  a 
matter  on  which  history  is  ominously  silent.  As  near  as  I 
can  remember,  the  room  is  about  nine  feet  long  and  four  feet 
wide,  and  lighted  by  a  single,  narrow,  deep-recessed  window. 
The  polished  steel  plate  with  whicli  she  arranged  her  back 
hair  is  here  ;  so  are  many  of  her  toilet  articles.  She  always 
carried  her  own  comb  and  brush,  and  never  borrowed  from 
the  ser\'ants  at  the  hotels  where  she  stopped.  A  close  re- 
semblance between  Mary  and  myself  in  this  particular  has 
struck  the  notice  of  a  number  of  people,  who  have  fre- 
quently commented  upon  it. 

Mary's  writing-desk  is  still  preserved.  I  wondered,  as  I 
looked  at  it,  if  the  people  in  those  days  used  to  spoil  sheets  of 
paper  by  dating  with  the  old  year  instead  of  the  new  for  the 
first  fortnight  of  the  latter,  and  swear  at  their  luck,  as  I  have 
heard  respectable  merchants  do. 

I  forgot  to  tell  you  that  at  the  entrance  to  the  palace  is  a 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  2/9 

regularly-ordained  ticket-office,  where  you  buy  your  admis- 
sion just  the  same  as  at  a  circus.  It,  like  most  of  these  ob- 
jects of  interest,  is  on  a  paying  basis.  And  I  am  glad  of  it. 
An  old  gentleman  stays  in  the  roofless  abbey,  where  he  has  a 
stand  of  photographs,  &c.,  for  sale.  On  making  a  purchase, 
I  gave  him  a  sovereign  ;  and,  in  returning  change,  he  said  (I 
had  exchanged  no  words  with  him  except  asking  the  price), 
"  I  suppose  you  can  count  our  money.  The  piece  you 
gave  me  is  a  sovereign,  which  is  twenty  shillings.  This  is  a 
half-crown,  or  two  shillings  and  sixpence ;  here  is  another, 
making  five  shillings  ;  this  is  a  t\vo-shiUing  piece."  And  so 
he  went  on,  doling  out  the  change  to  me,  and  explaining 
with  scrupulous  care  the  value  of  every  piece  ;  while  I  looked 
on,  too  full  of  \\Tath  to  speak. 

Then  there  was  another  disagreeable  incident.  On  the 
ticket-window  shelf  was  a  huge  cat  with  an  invitingly  glossy 
coat.  I  set  to  smoothing  it ;  when  she  gave  me  a  lick  so 
sudden  and  unexpected,  that  I  broke  a  pair  of  five-shilling 
suspenders  in  the  shock. 

Benevolence  has  also  done  much  for  Edinburgh  in  the  en- 
dowment of  several  splendid  schools,  hospitals,  and  asylums, 
which  are  erected  in  the  suburbs,  and  are  surrounded  by 
beautiful  grounds. 

On  the  High  Street  there  are  several  ragged-schools,  hum- 
ble and  unpretentious,  but  doing  good  work, 

I  spent  a  few  minutes  in  one  of  the  schools.  It  was  kept 
in  one  of  the  old  aristocratic  houses,  six  stories  high,  in  a 
narrow  close.  The  first  room  I  was  shown  into  was  the 
schoolroom,  where  two  classes  of  little  boys  and  girls  were 
receiving  instructions.  They  were  mostly  white-headed,  and 
all  were  bare-footed.  None  of  the  boys  in  the  institution 
can  boast  a  pair  of  shoes.  The  manager  could  not  explain 
why  they  were  clothed  and  not  shod.  I  passed  into  differ- 
ent rooms,  and  found  them  all  engaged  in  different  kinds  of 
labor.     The  latest-comers  were  cutting  blocks  of  wood  up 


280  ENGLAND    FROM    A    DACK-WINDOW. 

into  kindlings  to  be  sold  to  the  citizens.  In  the  milUrright- 
room  I  found  boys  twelve  years  old  tending  lathes,  which 
were  turning  handles  of  various  sorts  from  wood ;  and  they 
were  doing  the  work  most  creditably.  Other  boys  were  en- 
gaged in  making  scrubbing-brushes  ;  some  were  shoe-making ; 
and  others,  again,  were  tailoring.  They  were  of  all  ages,  from 
five  years  to  sixteen  years,  and  all  busy.  The  occupants 
are  those  found  on  the  street  at  night,  begging  from  Ameri- 
cans, or  trying  to  sell  them  fusee-matches.  They  are  first 
taken  to  a  magistrate,  where  their  circumstances  are  carefully 
looked  into  ;  and  if  they  have  parents  or  guardians,  and  they 
will  not  keep  them  from  the  streets,  they  are  sent  by  these 
authorities  to  the  schools. 

Edinburgh  has  several  peculiar  features.  Next  to  its  site, 
the  feature  which  most  impresses  a  stranger  is  the  great 
number  of  boys.  There  are  about  two  million  boys  in  Edin- 
burgh, whose  ages  range  from  twelve  to  fifteen  years ;  and 
all  but  nine  of  them  wear  Scotch  bonnets,  either  of  the  Glen- 
gary  or  other  pattern.  These  boys  can  be  found  on  every 
street  after  dark  ;  but  the  greater  part  of  them  congregate  on 
Princess  Street,  mostly  at  the  post-office  ;  and,  having  two 
tubes  instead  of  one  in  their  throats,  their  facilities  for  mak- 
ing themselves  heard  are  very  superior. 

Still  another  feature  is  the  fish-women.  They  may  be 
seen  at  nearly  all  hours  of  the  day,  but  more  especially  in 
the  morning.  They  dress  in  blue  linsey-woolsey,  consisting 
of  a  skirt  which  reaches  just  below  the  knees,  and  an  upper 
garment,  something  like  the  waterproof  worn  by  our  ladies, 
which  is  worn  over  the  shoulders  and  hips  in  pleasant  weath- 
er, and  made  to  protect  the  head  during  a  storm.  They  wear 
no  other  head-covering.  They  wear  low  shoes  with  wooden 
soles.  At  their  back  they  carry  a  basket,  which  is  two  feet 
s(iuare  and  about  three  feet  deep,  with  another  basket,  in 
the  shape  of  a  bowl,  sitting  in  the  top.  A  strap  fastenetl  to 
the  basket,  and  passing  around  the  forehead  of  the  carrier, 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  28 1 

keeps  the  goods  in  shape.  Thus  equipped,  the  dame  waltzes 
around  the  city,  and  sells  fish.  They  are  straight,  well-built 
women,  but  not  particularly  comely  in  feature.  Down  by 
the  river  in  the  suburbs  of  the  city  is  their  town.  It  is  called 
New  Haven,  and  is  almost  exclusively  occupied  by  them 
and  the  smell  of  fish.  There  are  also  two  or  three  taverns 
there,  where  a  splendid  meal  of  fish  can  be  obtained,  llie 
houses  are  two  or  three  hundred  years  old,  about  two  stories 
high,  v^th  sharp  roofs  and  enormous  stone  stoops.  On  the 
several  back  courts  the  space  over  the  pavement  is  devoted 
to  lines,  from  which  dangle  bladders,  corks,  underclothes, 
and  other  articles. 

The  people  are  Scandinavians,  or  were  Scandinavians  sev- 
eral centuries  ago,  and  have  not  intermarried  much  since. 
The  men  make  distant  sea-trips,  being  gone  for  several  days, 
and  after  enduring  much  hardship,  and  no  inconsiderable 
amount  of  danger,  return  with  a  load  of  fish,  and  smelling  as 
loud  as  a  fog-honi.  They  are  a  hardy,  courageous  set  of 
people,  and  form  a  favorite  nursery  for  the  British  navy. 
They  talk  good  English,  but  deal  particularly  in  a  dialect 
of  their  own,  which  a  wise  and  benevolent  Providence  re- 
stricts exclusively  to  themselves. 

The  women  remain  at  home,  opening  mussels,  baiting  the 
hooks  with  the  contents,  attending  to  the  household  duties, 
and  selling  the  produce.  They  are  the  bankers,  from  whom 
the  men  must  draw  what  money  they  need. 

Being  over  in  the  Old  Town  one  day,  I  noticed  a  building 
bearing  the  date  of  1792.  It  looked  so  absurd  and  impu- 
dent, thrusting  its  beardless  face  under  the  nose  of  its  vener- 
able companions,  that  I  went  in  to  the  owner,  and  told  him 
he  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  himself  to  stick  such  a  young, 
inexperienced  building  among  the  hoary  relics  of  the  dim 
past.  He  was  very  much  affected.  .  He  said  he  would  have 
it  taken  down  at  once. 

In  another  stroll,  this  time  along  Princess  Street,  I  was 


282  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

astounded  beyond  expression  by  the  sign  of  a  dyer,  which- 
contained  the  well-known  addition,  "  By  special  appointment 
to  her  Majesty  the  Queen."  I  have  read  this  announce- 
ment on  hat-stores  without  a  wink,  and  even  perused  it  over 
the  doors  of  tobacconists,  gents'  fumishing-goods  stores,  and 
the  like,  without  barely  a  preceptible  quiver ;  but  this  was  too 
much,  —  altogether  too  much.  Queen  Victoria  the  patron 
of  a  dyer  !    Imagine  the  autumnal  conversation  at  Windsor  :  — 

"  Albert  Edward,  will  you  be  so  good  as  to  step  into  Mr. 
Cameron's  when  you  are  in  Edinburgh,  and  see  if  my  car- 
pet-rags are  done?"  Or,  "Alexandra,  you  had  better  wear 
your  brown  poplin  this  week,  and  have  Mr.  Cameron  clean 
your  blue  silk  in  time  for  the  next  drawing-room."  Or, 
"  Beatrice,  tell  the  Duke  of  Connaught  to  leave  out  his  gray 
trousers  before  he  goes  away,  that  I  may  send  them  around 
to  the  dyer's  this  afternoon,  with  those  hair-ribbons  of  yours 
which  are  to  be  cleaned." 

And  she  queen  of  the  most  powerful  nation  on  the  face  of 
the  earth  !     It  ig  awful ! 

I  was  talking  with  a  gentleman  on  the  subject  in  the  smok- 
ing-room that  evening.  He  said  there  was  a  one-legged 
dealer  in  hair-pins,  shoe-laces,  and  the  like,  on  Leith  Street, 
who  was  patronized  by  nearly  all  the  crowned  heads  in  Eu- 
rope. I  hurried  around  there  early  the  next  morning  to 
interview  him  ;  but  I  did  not  go  in.  His  name  was  over  the 
door  :  it  was  Combs. 

Edinburgh  has  one  institution  that  can  be  found  nowhere 
else  in  the  United  Kingdom  :  it  is  two  quarts  of  peanuts. 
They  are  in  a  store-window  on  Market  Street,  and  have  j^rob- 
ably  been  there  for  years.  I  was  startled  on  beholding  them. 
I  couldn't  have  been  more  surprised  to  have  met  Niagara 
Falls. 

Speaking  of  stores  reminds  me  that  Edinburgh  has  many 
handsome  ones.  Nowhere  else  in  Scotland  will  you  find 
such  a  display  of  Scotch  goods.     There  are  plaids  of  every 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  283 

kind  in  dress-goods ;  and  they  are  used  to  display  the  inge- 
nuity of  man  in  book-covers,  card-cases,  napkin-rings,  &c. 
The  Scotch  are  a  clannish  people,  and  not  even  in  Mid- 
Highlands  is  it  so  rampant  as  in  Mid-Lothian.  The  plaids 
make  a  fine  store-front  and  a  most  picturesque  costume. 
I  meet  one  or  more  Highland-dressed  people  every  day. 
To  be  a  true  Highlander  requires  a  noble  courage,  sandy 
whiskers,  and  a  pair  of. clean  legs. 

The  King  of  Denmark  came  to  Edinburgh  while  I  was 
there  ;  and  the  Princess  of  Wales,  his  daughter,  came  to  see 
him.  How  singular  and  inhuman-like  royal  people  appear  ! 
The  princess  came  on  to  see  him  without  her  children,  and 
unattended  by  her  husband.  I  don't  understand  why  the 
husband  did  not  come.  I  never  heard  there  was  any  thing 
objectionable  about  a  father-in-law.  And  the  king  didn't  go 
to  see  the  Queen,  and  the  Queen  didn't  come  to  see  him. 
He  got  over  her  fence  ;  but  she  did  not  go  out  to  greet  him, 
nor  send  to  inquire  if  he  would  have  something  warm  before 
retiring.  That  isn't  the  way  common  people  do  :  they  are 
too  well-bred.  I  wonder  if  the  old  gentleman  didn't  hunger 
to  see  his  grandchildren.  He  had  his  vessel  in  the  harbor, 
and  came  ashore  every  day,  stopping  at  the  Douglas,  a  quiet, 
unpretentious  hotel. 

Whenever  he  came  ashore,  or  returned  to  his  vessel,  there 
was  a  crowd  present. 

I  united  my  commanding  presence  on  the  occasion  of  his 
last  departure,  to  give  tone  to  the  proceedings.  The  street 
in  front  of  the  hotel  was  jammed  with  anxious  faces.  It  was 
raining.  We  waited  full  an  hour.  There  were  three  carriages 
drawn  up  in  front  of  the  curb  in  waiting.  Every  five  or  ten 
minutes  a  portly  chap  would  run  out  and  re-arrange  one  of 
the  carriages.  Every  time  he  did  it  I  would  creep  up  on  my 
toes,  and  stretch  my  neck  to  its  utmost  tension  ;  but  nothing 
came  of  it.  I  had  just  reached  the  conclusion  to  go  around 
there  and  knock  his  head  off,  when  the  king  appeared,  and 


284  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WIN UOW. 

walked  down  the  carpets  to  the  cairiage.  The  princess  came 
innnccHately  behind  him.  He  is  a  pleasant-looking  gentle- 
man, but  nothing  remarkable.  There  is  no  satisfaction  in 
contemplating  a  king.  That  is  one  of  the  things  I  have  found 
out  since  being  in  Europe.  The  princess  wore  a  blue  water- 
proof, and  a  rather  shabby-looking  jockey.  Had  she  not 
been  a  princess  she  would  have  met  that  crowd  in  the  rain, 
with  a  light-blue  satin  dress  and  a  hundred-dollar  hat ;  but 
she  would  not  have  received  a  more  cordial  manifestation  of 
delight  than  came  from  that  crowd  of  moist  but  enthusiastic 
individuals.     Even  I  emitted  a  half-yell  of  pleasure. 

It  is  rather  singular,  that,  with  all  my  going  to  and  fro,  I 
have  not  seen  a  lord.  I  have  seen  princes  and  dukes,  and  a 
few  kings,  but  never  a  lord. 

I  devoted  one  day  to  Melrose  Abbey.  It  is  a  well-con- 
ducted ruin.  The  heart  of  Bruce  lies  within  its  walls,  and 
about  ten  thousand  Pringles  are  buried  just  outside  of  them. 
The  Pringle  family  must  have  proved  a  perfect  godsend  to 
the  undertakers  in  the  neighborhood. 

There  are  nearly  five  hundred  old  castles  in  this  vicinity. 
Queen  Mary  was  imprisoned  in  all  of  them.  That  unfortu- 
nate must  have  been  in  jail  about  four-fifths  of  the  time. 

What  I  now  want,  what  I  really  pant  after,  is  a  ruin  that 
wasn't  her  prison,  that  Sir  Walter  Scott  hasn't  uTitten  about, 
and  that  Queen  Victoria  didn't  visit  in  1842. 

But  I  don't  know  where  to  look  for  it. 

Not  far  from  Edinburgh  is  a  beautiful  edifice  called  Ros1)ti 
Chapel.  It  was  built  some  four  hundred  years  ago,  but  has 
been  kept  in  perfect  repair  by  the  Earls  of  Roslyn,  who  own  it. 
The  ornamentation  is  of  the  most  extravagant  kind,  and.  as  it 
is  done  in  stone,  must  have  cost  money.  But  what  jiarticu- 
larly  struck  me  about  the  chapel  is  a  column  that  transcends 
all  the  others  in  device  and  execution.  It  is  called  "  The 
Prentice  Pillar ;  "  and  there  is  a  tradition  in  connection  with 
it,  to  the  effect  that  the  builder  of  the  chapel  went  to  Rome 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  285 

to  Study  up  something  for  a  column,  to  be  more  gorgeous 
than  all  the  others.  When  he  got  back,  he  saw,  to  his  great 
vexation,  that  the  apprentice  had,  in  his  absence,  built  a  pil- 
lar that  danced  all  around  any  thing  the  old  man  had  secured, 
Orientally  speaking.  He  was  so  chagrined  by  the  occurrence, 
that  he  picked  up  a  hammer,  and  the  apprentice  was  buried 
from  his  late  residence  two  days  after.     This  is  the  pillar. 

That  is  a  remarkable  story ;  but  it  is  true.  I  know  it  is 
true  ;  for  it  is  just  like  an  apprentice,  when  his  boss  is  absent, 
to  just  lay  himself  out  on  work,  and  to  lie  awake  night  after 
night  planning  how  he  can  best  employ  the  time  next  day 
in  advancing  his  employer's  interests.  I  haven't  heard  such 
a  natural  and  upright  anecdote  as  that  is  in  a  long  while.  It 
is  so  true,  so  lifelike  ! 

I  have  been  an  apprentice  myself,  and  the  number  of 
times  I  have  been  knocked  down  by  a  hammer  for  slaving 
and  toiling  during  my  employer's  absence  no  one  can  tell. 

I  recollect  that  on  one  occasion  he  started  into  the  village 
for  a  pound  of  eightpenny  nails.  I  thought  he  would  be 
gone  about  an  hour,  and  had  just  stepped  around  back  of  a 
fence  to  have  a  game  of  seven-up  with  a  friend,  when  he 
returned. 

Those  were  the  days  of  youth  and  hope.  How  I  love  to 
linger  over  them  !  But  they  are  gone,  and  can  never  return 
to  us. 

He  had  had  his  boots  double-soled  the  day  before. 


286  ENGLAND    FROM   A    BACK-WINDOW. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

SCUDDING   THROUGH   THE    HIGHLANDS. 

GLASGOW  is,  to  speak  mildly,  the  dirtiest  city  I  have 
seen.  It  possesses  a  population  of  nearly  six  hundred 
thousand,  and  it  is  as  busy  as  it  can  be  in  manufactures  and 
commerce  ;  but  it  is  fearfully  dirty.  George's  Square,  oppo- 
site my  hotel,  has  a  commanding  statue  of  Scott,  a  smaller 
one  of  Peel,  and  several  representing  other  people.  It  has 
broad  walks  and  grass-plots,  and  tobacco-quids  and  cigar- 
stumps,  and  old  junk,  and  scores  of  ragged,  dirty  children, 
and  sleeping,  beastly-looking  ruffians.  It  is  a  city  that  boils 
up  chemicals,  and  profanes  the  atmosi)here  with  the  stench  ; 
that  breeds  crime  and  filth  by  the  wholesale  ;  and  that  has 
transformed  the  beautiful  Clyde  into  a  damnable  sewer,  whose 
smell  is  louder  than  a  park  of  artillery. 

We  reached  Glasgow  at  four  p.m.,  but  commenced  to  smell 
it  at  a  quarter-past  three.  Glasgow  thinks  it  wants  a  new 
harbor ;  but  what  it  really  needs  is  some  chloride  of  lime. 
But,  after  all,  were  it  not  for  chemical  compounding,  and 
the  Clyde,  Glasgow  would  be  a  handsome  city.  In  point 
of  architectural  merit  it  is  superior  to  Edinburgh ;  and  its 
streets  are  straight,  and  of  good  width. 

We  left  Glasgow  as  soon  as  possible,  taking  the  cars  to 
Greenock,  where  the  Clyde  sewer  ends,  and  the  Clyde  River 
begins  again.  There  we  took  steamer  for  a  circular  tour  of 
Scotland,  going  by  boat  among  the  isles,  and  through  the 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  28/ 

lochs  (lakes),  to  the  north  of  the  country,  and  coming  back 
by  rail  on  the  other  side.  This  was  done  under  the  auspices 
of  the  Caledonian  Railway,  and  was  productive  of  considera- 
ble entertainment. 

I  got  into  Greenock  of  a  Saturday  night ;  and,  being  a 
conspicuous  patron  of  the  drama,  I  attended  the  theatre  at 
once.  The  play  or  the  place  is  not  deserving  of  special 
notice ;  but  the  audience  was,  without  exception,  the  most 
enthusiastic  I  have  seen.  Upon  the  dropping  of  the  curtain 
at  the  end  of  an  act,  the  stamping,  yelHng,  and  clapping  of 
hands,  swept  through  the  building  like  a  hurricane,  both 
deafening  and  crazing  the  more  temperate  hearers.  I  have 
seen  a  Rocky-Mountain  audience  applaud ;  but  it  was  a 
sort  of  unsuccessful  funeral  in  comparison  to  this  Greenock 
gathering. 

The  next  day  I  attended  an  Established  Church  of  the 
Scotch  persuasion,  and  not  only  enjoyed  the  sermon,  but 
was  much  interested  in  the  construction  of  the  building  and 
the  features  of  the  service.  It  was  a  large  building  with  a 
capacious  porch.  Opposite  the  door  in  this  porch  were  two 
large  copper  basins  about  the  size  that  would  delight  a  New- 
England  housewife  who  contemplated  a  batch  of  Thanksgiv- 
ing-pies. Each  of  these  pans  was  about  one-half  full  of 
pennies  and  silver-pieces.  Nearly  every  one  who  came  in 
added  from  his  pile  to  those  :  and,  by  the  time  the  service 
commenced,  a  very  good  sum  had  been  realized.  This  is 
the  way  the  weekly  contribution  is  taken  up  in  the  Scotch 
church ;  and  a  very  successful  plan  I  judge  it  to  be.  The 
inside  of  the  church  was  peculiarly  divided.  The  pulpit 
was  attached  to  the  organ-case,  and  the  choir  sat  in  a  box- 
seat  in  front  of  the  pulpit.  There  were  three  galleries,  of 
enormous  seating-capacity.  Two  lines  of  seats  ran  from  the 
front  to  the  pulpit.  The  other  seats  Jormed  a  right  angle  to 
those.  The  last  three  seats  at  the  rear  were  tiered  above 
each  other,  and  the  last  of  all  was  some  four  feet  above  the 


288  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

floor.  The  feet  of  the  occupants  rested  on  a  board,  which 
so  far  from  covered  the  space  as  to  leave  room  for  the  care- 
less party  to  step  off,  and  become  temporarily  oblivious  to  the 
rest  of  the  congregation.  The  church  seated  two  thousand 
people,  and  was  well  filled  on  this  occasion.  All  Scotch 
churches  have  extensive  seating-capacity.  The  Church  of 
Scotland  is  similar  to  the  Church  of  England  in  that  its 
clergy  wear  the  gown  and  surplice  ;  and  it  was  like,  until  very 
recently,  in  another  and  more  important  particular,  in  that 
it  was  governed  by  patronage  ;  in  other  words,  its  offices 
were  in  the  gift  of  some  certain  party. 

The  rector  of  the  Church  of  England  is  in  for  life.  He 
obtains  the  position  from  the  nobleman  or  bishop  who  owns 
the  living,  and  retains  it  at  the  pleasure  of  the  givers.  A\'hcn 
a  church  loses  its  pastor,  it  does  not  call  a  score  of  others 
to  march  in  sermonic  procession  before  it,  from  which,  after 
severe  and  not  unanimous  criticism,  it  choses  one  to  its 
liking;  but  the  owner  of  the  living  is  seen  by  the  friends 
of  Mr.  Jones,  and  Mr.  Jones  is  forthwith  installed  without 
troubling  the  congregation.  An  English  congregation  is 
rather  restricted  in  opportunities  for  making  mischief  and 
dividing  itself.  In  return,  the  congregations  with  objectiona- 
ble clergymen  take  their  revenge  by  staying  at  home. 

Besides  the  basins,  the  porch  of  this  and  of  all  Scotch 
churches  has  another  attraction.  On  the  walls  are  black- 
boards, with  golden  letters  giving  the  names  of  such  peojjle 
in  the  parish  who  have  donated  sums  of  money  to  the  sus- 
tenance of  the  poor  or  other  worthy  objects. 

Greenock  is  an  independent  smelling  community  on  its  own 
hook.  On  that  Saturday  night,  Hamilton  Street  (which  is  its 
main  thoroughfare,  and  where  the  hotels  were  located),  trying 
to  catch  a  mouthful  of  pure  air,  was  crowded  with  jjcople. 
The  sidewalks  were  full,  and  the  pavement  covered  with  ])eo- 
ple.  These  old-country  peo])le  will  never,  I  fear,  get  over  the 
habit  of  walkin;?  in  the  roadwav.     Their  forefluhers  had  no 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  289 

sidewalks,  and  the  mild  species  of  vagrancy  that  order  of 
things  established  is  entailed  on  their  children.  As  a  gen- 
eral thing,  you  will  find  full  as  many  people  in  the  street  as 
on  the  sidewalks ;  and  of  a  Sunday  the  roadway  will  be  cov- 
ered with  nicely-dressed  folks  going  to  or  from  church  as 
cheerfully  as  though  on  the  flags. 

But  it  can  be  said  of  the  pavements  here  that  they  are 
smooth  and  clean,  with  no  gutters  filled  with  stagnant  water. 
Besides,  it  is  a  picturesque  sight,  looking  down  an  avenue 
evenly  dotted  over  its  entire  face  with  moving  people  and 
changing  colors  of  dress. 

On  this  Saturday  evening  in  particular,  with  about  ten 
million  various  musicians  thumping  out  sweet  strains  along 
it,  a  man  with  any  love  of  the  varied  and  bright  might  stand 
there  and  enjoy  it  for  an  hour,  if  he  could  hold  his  nose  that 
length  of  time. 

At  nine  o'clock  the  next  morning  I  got  on  board  the 
steamer  "  lona,"  and  began  the  sail.  "  The  lona  "  is  called  in 
the  hand-bills  and  advertisements  "  the  celebrated  steamer," 
"  the  famous  steamer,"  &c.  After  seeing  the  rusty  hearses  used 
on  the  Thames  for  pleasure-purposes,  "  The  lona  "  is  a  gratify- 
ing spectacle.  It  is  not  an  elaborate  steamer ;  but  it  is  of  good 
size,  has  two  funnels  (a  circumstance  every  Scotchman  feel- 
ingly calls  your  attention  to),  and  a  cabin  finely  upholstered. 
The  deck-room  for  an  all-day  trip  is  not  "  numerous  ;  "  but 
the  vessel  is  clean,  the  officers  keep  their  mouths  shut,  and 
the  stewards  are  attentive. 

I  had  a  very  delightful  sail. 

The  coast  on  this  side  of  Scotland  is  a  mass  of  islands, 
those  of  lona  and  Staffa  being  the  most  famous,  —  the  former 
for  its  ruins,  and  the  latter  for  its  striking  natural  features ; 
and  inside  are  an  almost  equal  number  of  lochs,  or  lakes, 
which  are  famous  for  their  placid  waters  and  enormpus 
mountains.  Everybody  who  comes  to  Scotland  takes  a  tour 
through   the   lakes,  which   he   must   do   to   be    fashionable. 


290  ENGLAND    FROM    A    nACK-WINDOW. 

Not  that  I  wish  to  be  understood  as  representing  that  the 
lake-scener)'  of  Scotland  possesses  no  attractions  aside  from 
the  inexorable  decree  of  fashion  :  on  the  contrary,  the  views 
thus  obtained  are  grand  in  the  farthest  extreme.  But  thou- 
sands go  over  the  routes  every  year  who  are  certain  a  liill 
is  a  hill,  and  nothing  more  ;  and,  while  others  are  rapt  with 
the  scenery,  they  are  nearly  prostrate  with  the  expense. 

There  are  several  routes,  the  most  popular  being  through 
the  Trossachs,  and  the  most  beautiful  by  way  of  the  Cale- 
donia Canal.  Phonetically  the  Trossachs  have  an  advantage 
over  the  canal.  One-half  of  the  people  who  have  been  through 
the  Trossachs  don't  know  what  they  are.  I  have  asked  sev- 
eral the  definition  ;  but  they  were  unable  to  give  it.  But  they 
thought  I  ought  not  to  miss  seeing  them. 

But  I  have,  and  did  it  purposely. 

You  see,  dear  reader,  the  Trossachs  are  a  series  of  hills  and 
glens  skirting -Loch  Achray,  very  wild  and  grand,  and  made 
famous  by  a  poem  called  "  The  Lady  of  the  Lake,"  ^\Titten  by 
a  gentleman  named  Scott.  The  two  principal  characters  are 
a  clan  chieftain  named  Rhoderick  Dhu,  and  a  nobleman 
named  Fitz-James.  I  never  read  the  poem  :  but  it  was 
acted  at  our  school-exhibition ;  and,  besides  getting  a  spur 
of  a  pine  in  my  eye  while  taking  the  precarious  character  of 
one  of  the  clan  attached  to  Mr.  Dhu,  I  was  kept  after  school 
while  he  and  Fitz-James  were  rehearsing  one  evening,  and 
during  the  dialogue  got  the  most  triumphant  and  comprehen- 
sive licking  at  the  hands  of  the  teacher  that  I  ever  received 
while  shinning  up  the  hill  of  knowledge. 

I  can't  hear  the  name  of  the  Trossachs  to  this  day  with- 
out shivering. 

Throughout  the  route,  one  feature  of  the  hills  was  partic- 
ularly noticeable,  —  they  were  not  cultivated.  In  some 
instances  they  were  co\ered  by  trees  ;  in  others  they  were 
perfectly  bald.  They  rose  up  in  rapid  succession,  one  tow- 
ering beyond   the   other,   presenting  but  little-  animal    life, 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  29 1 

but  looking  grand  and  impressive  in  their  rugged  strength. 
I  have  seen  higher  mountains  in  the  Sierra-Nevada  range, 
and  more  striking  views  in  the  Rocky  Mountains ;  but 
neither  possessed  the  quiet  beauty  of  these  eminences.  The 
Scottish  hills  may  be  void  of  trees  or  cultivation ;  but  they 
are  not  utterly  barren  of  vegetation.  Where  there  are  no 
trees  or  grass,  there  is  the  heather ;  and  at  this  season,  being 
in  blossom,  it  robed  the  hills  in  a  bright  purple. 

In  the  evening,  with  the  boat  gliding  almost  noiselessly 
through  the  water,  and  a  full  moon  lighting  up  both  lake  and 
hill,  the  spectacle  on  either  side,  behind  or  ahead,  was  so 
quietly  beautiful,  that  an  observer  would  allow  his  cigar  to 
remain  idly  in  his  hands  before  he  would  so  wantonly 
encroach  upon  the  spell  to  ask  for  a  light. 

When  scenery  lets  a  man's  cigar  go  out,  it  is  scenery  worth 
visiting. 

We  ascended  Loch  Fyne  to  a  place  called  Avdrishaig 
(if  you  are  going  to  pronounce  these  Scotch  names,  you 
must  be  in  earnest  about  it :  the  man  who  pauses  to  fool 
around  them  is  irretrivably  lost).  Here  we  were  to  take  a 
steamer  through  the  Crinan  Canal,  —  a  short  cut  between  • 
Loch  Fyne  and  the  sea-channel.  We  left  "The  lona,"  and, 
grasping  our  carpet-bag  tight  in  our  hand,  fought  our  way  to 
the  canal-steamer  through  a  million  boys  determined  to  do 
something  to  us  ;  but  as  they  couched  their  intentions  in  pure 
Gaelic,  slightly  adulterated  with  an  infusion  of  unfortunate 
English,  I  didn't  make  out  what  they  were  up  to.  I  subse- 
quently ascertained  that  they  wanted  to  carry  my  valise. 

I  presume  this  might  be  called  the  Highlands  of  Scotland  ; 
but  several  weeks'  residence  here  has  taught  me  that  the 
Highlands  are  something  like  "out  West  "  in  the  States,  —  a 
section  vaguely  located  just  beyond,  and  partaking  some- 
what of  the  characteristic  popularly  attributed  to  the  flea. 
But  there  is  no  doubt  that  it  is  the  land  of  Benjamin.  There 
are  Ben  Lomond,  and  Ben  Nevis,  and  Ben  Ledi,  and  Ben 


292  ENGLAND    FROM    A    HACK-WINDOW. 

Cruachan,  and  Ben  Lawahcr,  and  every  other  Ben  of  any 
note,  excepting  Ben  Butler.  The  lower  side  of  the  canal  is 
extensively  cultivated  in  grass.  We  passed  numerous  fields 
where  the  haymakers  were  at  work  securing  the  crop.  The 
men  mowed  ;  and  the  women  followed  after,  turning  over  the 
swath  with  their  hands,  or  making  the  cured  hay  into  piles. 
Not  a  rake  was  to  be  seen  in  the  fields.  AH  the  work  was 
performed  by  the  women  with  their  hands.  They  worked 
hard,  and  got  thirty  cents  a  day ;  that  is,  a  dollar  and  eighty 
cents  a  week.  They  wore  a  short  skirt,  and  some  of  them 
sported  a  breastpin.     But  they  were  not  a  proud  set. 

We  passed  through  nine  locks  in  succession  ;  and,  while  the 
boat  was  thus  tediously  progressing,  most  of  us  got  off  and 
walked  the  distance  along  the  tow-path. 

I  walked  part  of  the  way  with  an  old  gentleman  who  was 
nearly  eighty  years  of  age.  He  said  he  had  often,  when 
young,  walked  forty  miles  in  a  day ;  but  he  was  old  now,  and 
could  only  creep  along,  I  made  several  attemi)ts  to  make  a 
suitable  reply ;  but  it  took  so  much  of  my  wind  to  keep  up 
with  him,  that  I  had  to  forego  the  pleasure.  He  would  have 
laughed  forty  treadmills  to  scorn. 

On  leaving  the  canal  at  the  little  village  of  Crinan  we 
were  transferred  to  a  commodious  steamer,  and  pursued  our 
way  to  Oban.  Here  the  large  bulk  of  passengers  dwindled 
to  a  small  number,  as  Oban  is  the  sailing-point  to  lona  and 
Staffa  Islands,  and  has  the  best  hotel  accommodation  of  any 
place  on  the  lake-route.  It  is  a  new  village  comparatively, 
and  owes  what  size  it  has  attained  to  tourists.  From  the 
boat  can  be  seen  the  ruins  of  Dunolly  Castle.  It  used  to  be 
a  tempestuous  place  of  residence  when  the  MacDougals 
slashed  and  killed  as  they  pleased,  and  feasted  on  the  fat  of 
the  land  without  napkins.  It  now  belongs  to  the  youthful 
and  flaxen-haired  Marquis  of  Lome,  who  married  a  daughter 
of  Queen  Victoria,  My  landlonl  at  Oreenock  had  him  for 
a  several-hours'  guest  a  few  weeks  ago,  and  mentioned  in  a 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    HACK-WINDOW.  293 

broken  voice  that  the  marquis  called  for  his  mutton-chop 
in  the  coffee-room,  and  ate  it  as  composedly  as  an  ordinary- 
chap  could  have  done.  The  castle  was  admirably  located 
for  defence,  being  on  a  bold  headland  of  rock  at  the  water's 
edge.  The  workmen  must  have  come  from  the  city ;  and 
were  probably  killed  when  the  building  was  finished,  to  avoid 
paying  them.  Many  a  poor  devil  has  been  openly  murdered 
in  bonnie  Scotland  on  far  less  provocation. 

Near  to  Oban,  between  the  Islands  of  Jura  and  Scarbra,  is 
the  celebrated  whirlpool  which  figures  in  legend  and  modern 
fiction  as  a  place  of  destruction  through  the  power  of  its 
current,  and  the  rapacity  of 'enormous  monsters  which  are 
supposed  to  be  concealed  within  its  appalling  surface.  For 
a  thousand  years  or  so,  the  awful  reputation  of  this  spot  has 
continued  unimpaired.  Now  some  scientific  people  come 
forward  and  claim  that  it  is  merely  a  strong  tide,  broken  by  a 
submarine  rock.  I  could  have  got  a  row-boat  at  Oban,  and 
personally  investigated  the  whirlpool,  but  preferred  believing 
what  I  heard  to  trusting  to  what  I  might  see.  As  for  the 
monsters,  they  have  vacated  the  whirlpools,  and  taken  posi- 
tions as  waiters  in  the  hotels. 

We  reached  the  little  pier  at  Ballachulish  just  before  dusk, 
having,  since  leaving  Oban,  passed  through  some  of  the 
finest  mountain-ranges  on  the  trip,  while  the  bosom  of  the 
lake  was  as  placid  as  the  shores  were  rugged  and  tumultuous. 
We  paid  eight  cents  each  for  the  privilege  of  landing  on  the 
pier,  which  belonged  to  Lord  Somebody,  who  took  this 
method  for  reimbursing  himself, 


294  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 


A   RUINED   UPBURST. 


THE  next  morning,  after  breakfast,  I  started  for  a  six- 
mile  walk  up  the  Glen  of  Coe.  It  was  a  beautiful 
riiorning,  and  the  road  was  in  excellent  condition.  I  notice 
that  the  Highlanders  understand  the  uses  of  precipitous 
hills,  and  do  not  attempt  to  run  turnpikes  up  them.  These, 
and  all  other  roads  I  have  traversed,  were  comparatively 
level,  while  the  residences  are  built  on  the  lowlands.  They 
keep  the  hills  here  to  look  at  and  admire. 

About  a  mile  on  the  way  I  came  to  the  village  proper  of 
Ballachulish,  —  a  long,  straggling  street,  with  one-story  stone 
houses,  dirty,  ill-kept,  and  squalid  from  every  aspect.  It  is  a 
slate-quarrying  country,  and  the  people  who  occupy  these 
dens  are  the  workers  in  the  mines.  It  was  a  holiday,  being 
pay-day ;  and  some  few  of  the  children  were  washed,  out 
of  respect  to  the  day ;  and  the  men  were  idling  about. 
Huge  piles  of  broken  slate,  the  refuse  of  the  quarries,  lay  on 
every  side,  in  some  spots  formed  into  enormous  hillocks.  A 
few  hundred  years  hence  they  will  be  covered  with  soil  anil 
vegetation  ;  and,  on  excavating  them,  the  broken  slate  will 
come  to  view,  and  the  entire  world  of  geology  and  science 
will  be  convulsed  with  excitement  over  the  singular  devel- 
opment. Miserable  anil  broken  roofs  would  naturally  be 
expected  in  this  country  of  slate  ;  and  here  they  are.  It  is 
always   the  carpenter's  gate  that  won't   shut  well,  and  the 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  295 

shoemaker's  wife  that  goes  poorly  shod.  The  children  were 
active  beggars.  They  swarmed  from  the  cottages,  and  fol- 
lowed behind  me,  screaming  for  pennies. 

Poor  bairns  !  they  little  dreamed  that  I  was  an  editor. 

The  people  were  none  of  the  brightest.  The  men  were 
soggy-looking,  and,  in  answer  to  simple  questions,  worked 
with  great  difificulty.  On  passing  one  cottage,  the  sound  of  a 
fife  was  heard.  The  player  was  trying  to  catch  the  air  of 
OUl  Hundred.  AH  fife-learners  start  on  that  abused  tune. 
I  once  felt  a  call  to  play  a  fife,  and  made  my  dhbut  with  that 
tune.  My  father  used  to  stand  it  as  long  as  he  could  ;  then 
he  would  pull  his  hat  down  over  his  eyes,  and  dash  madly 
out  of  the  house.  The  cultivation  of  his  ear  had  been  neg- 
lected in  his  youth. 

The  road,  as  it  entered  the  glen,  crossed  the  turbulent  little 
strearii  which  is  the  River  Coe,  and  followed  it  up  to  its  head. 

I  had  asked  several  people  on  the  way  how  far  it  was  to 
the  site  of  the  massacre  ;  but  they  could  not  tell  me.  I 
explained  to  one  of  them  what  massacre  meant ;  and  he 
immediately  inquired  in  a  shocked  voice,  "  Did  it  happen 
0*  late  ?  "  —  "  About  two  hundred  years  ago,"  I  incidentally 
observed.     He  went  away. 

I  continued  to  move  along  the  road.  On  my  right  rose 
the  hills  to  the  light  flying  clouds  :  on  my  left  were  harvesters 
at  work  in  the  grain,  the  crooked  river,  morass,  and  swamps  ; 
beyond  them  the  opposing  host  of  hills.  Here  and  there  a 
mountain-stream  rushed  across  the  road,  and  I  was  obliged 
to  pick  my  way  over  it  on  the  exposed  bits  of  stone.  I  saw 
three  boys  approaching.  When  they  saw  me  they  stepped 
from  the  road  in  among  the  grass  and  bushes,  and  presently 
returned,  bearing  something  in  their  hands.  The  something 
proved  to  be  a  half-dozen  bits  of  coarse  weed,  which  they 
pressed  me  to  purchase,  under  the  delusion  that  they  were 
flowers.  They  wanted  a  penny  each  for  them  ;  but  we  finally 
compromised  for  a  halfpenny.     They  knew  nothing  of  the 


296  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

place  of  the  massacre.  The  mincls  of  horticuUurists  "don't 
run  much  to  history,  I  have  noticed. 

I  passed  but  two  cottages ;  but  the  adults  were  away  in 
the  fields.  I  pressed  on,  the  valley  or  glen  narrowing  as  I 
advanced,  but  maintaining  the  same  features  just  noticed. 
I  had  read  a  full  dcscrii)tion  of  the  glen.     The  writer  said,  — 

"  It  is  the  gloomiest,  wildest,  most  impressive,  of  the  High- 
land glens ;  presents  aspects  of  grandeur,  savageness,  and 
mystery,  that  tell  powerfully  on  a  vivid  imagination.  ...  Its 
flanks  so  closely  confront  each  other,  flank  to  flank,  soar  so 
weirdly  from  barren  base  to  shattered  summit,  abound  so 
profusely  in  caverns,  fissures,  and  tottering  clifls,  and  shut 
out  so  darkly  the  light  of  day,  as  to  seem  to  be  rather  an 
upbursfc  from  a  ruined  world  than  any  portion  of  the  fair 
surface  of  the  earth." 

This  bit  of  description  pleased  me  very  much,  and  I  com- 
mitted it  to  memory.  I  liked  it  because  there  was  nothing 
flowery  about  it ;  but  it  was  just  a  simple  and  unostentatious 
explanation  of  the  glen  and  its  prominent  features.  All  about 
me  was  pretty,  but  rather  tame.  I  wanted  to  get  among 
the  weirdness  and  upbursts,  so  in  keeping  with  the  atroci(ifes 
crime  which  has  given  its  name  to  history. 

I  had  gone  about  six  miles,  when  I  met  a  party  returning. 
They  were  not  a  cheerful  party.  They  had  been  two  miles 
beyond  the  point  of  our  meeting,  but  had  not  seen  the  site 
of  the  massacre ;  neither  had  they  found  any  one  who 
could  give  them  the  desired  information.  I  described  the 
place,  giving  the  gable  of  a  mined  cottage  as  the  landmark. 
They  had  passed  that,  but  had  paid  no  attention  to  it.  It 
was  a  few  hundred  yards  beyond.  What  they  expected  to 
find  was  a  monument,  and  perhaps  one  or  two  bodies. 

But  there  is  neither,  —  nothing  whatever  to  indicate  the 
awful  sjiot  but  this  simple,  tottering  gable  of  a  ruined  cot- 
tage. Tradition  says  it  was  the  home  of  the  Macdonald, 
the  old  chief  of  the  clan  ;  but  the  tradition  is  not  local,  as  no 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    RACK-WINDOW.  297 

one  in  this  neighborhood,  descendants  of  the  respected 
old  clan,  knows  aught  of  the  massacre,  let  alone  any  of  the 
particulars  or  location.  But  it  was  here  that,  nearly  two  hun- 
dred years  ago,  the  massacre  took  place. 

William  the  Third  was  on  the  throne.  James  the  Seventh 
had  forfeited  his  cro\vh,  and  was  a  fugitive  in  France.  The 
Highlanders,  being  Catholics,  were  loyal  to  the  skedaddling 
monarch,  and  opposed  to  the  Protestant  reign  of  William. 
Battles  and  skirmishes,  murders,  &c.,  were  common  between 
the  loyal  and  the  disaffected.  Finally  the  patience  of  William 
was  exhausted ;  and,  at  the  suggestion  of  the  secretary  of 
state  of  Scotland,  a  proclamation  was  issued,  calling  upon  the 
chiefs  of  the  clans  to  give  in  their  adhesion  to  the  new  gov- 
ernment on  a  certain  day,  or  their  people  would  be  annihi- 
lated. The  chiefs  hastened  to  obey ;  but  Macdonald,  wishing 
to  be  the  last,  delayed  until  just  before  the  day  appointed, 
when  a  heavy  snow-storm  so  blocked  up  the  roads,  that, 
although  he  used  all  haste,  he  did  not  arrive  at  the  post  until 
several  days  after  the  required  date.  The  sheriff,  however, 
received  his  pledge,  and  forwarded  it  to  the  state  department : 
.but  the  wily  secretary,  desiring  to  gratify  a  private  grudge 
against  the  old  chief,  kept  the  truth  from  William  ;  and  that 
monarch  ordered  the  torch  and  sword  to  be  turned  upon  the 
inhabitants  of  Glencoe. 

It  was  a  snowy  day  when  the  king's  troops  came  upon  the 
little  village.  They  came  with  protestations  of  friendship, 
and  were  hospitably  received,  and  for  several  days  were  en- 
tertained by  the  unsuspecting  people.  At  midnight,  after 
they  had  tested  to  the  utmost  the  kindness  of  the  Macdon- 
alds,  they  arose,  and  burst  upon  the  people  with  the  sud- 
denness of  a  simoom.  Old  and  young,  men  and  women, 
the  bowed  man  and  prattling  child,  fell  beneath  the  un- 
merciful bullet  and  cruel  steel,  or  were  brained  by  the  axe, 
or  perished  in  the  flames  of  their  homes.  Many  of  the 
Macdonalds  escaped  by  the  glens,  but  only  by  a  miracle,  as 


298  ENGLAND    FROM    A    RACK-WINDOW. 

it  was  an  intensely  cold  night,  and  they  were  thinly  clad. 
Thirty-eight  were  murilered  outright,  and  a  number  froze  to 
death  on  the  hills.  That  was  their  idea  of  persuasion  in 
those  days. 

It  is  very  quiet  now.  There  is  not  a  vestige  of  the 
slaughter,  —  nothing  but  this  old  gable.  I  turned  away,  and 
slowly  retraced  my  steps,  thinking  of  that  January  night  in 
the  seventeenth  century. 

There  is  a  disappointment  in  the  features  of  the  glen. 
Those  tremendous  precipices,  and  gloomy  glens,  and  weird 
peaks,  are  not  to  be  seen.  It  is  a  pretty  valley ;  the  ridges 
are  majestic,  the  fields  bright  and  golden,  the  river  a  silver 
band  winding  among  them.  But,  to  find  the  sombre  and 
gloomy  points,  one  must  be  excessively  bilious.  It  won't  do 
to  seek  the  oppressive  in  Glencoe  while  carrying  an  active 
liver  in  your  anatomy.     You  may  take  my  word  for  that. 

I  saw  only  one  object  that  seemed  to  agree  with  the 
extract  I  have  copied.  He  was  asleep  on  a  pile  of  stones, 
and  was  ragged  and  dirty  to  excess.  I  awoke  him,  and 
asked  him  if  he  was  an  ui)burst  from  a  ruined  world.  He 
said  he  wasn't ;  but  I  could  see  he  was  prevaricating. 

That  evening  the  boat  came  up  to  the  pier  again.  Again 
we  paid  a  fourpence,  and  sailed  away  through  Loch  Linnhie, 
around  the  base  of  the  mountains  to  Bannavie,  where  we 
disembarked,  were  packed  into  an  omnibus,  and  drifted 
away,  through  a  mile  of  darkness,  to  the  Loch-Eil  Arms.  A 
steaming  supper  was  in  waiting  in  the  coflee-room.  My 
English  friends  suggested  supper ;  but  I  declined.  I  had 
been  there  before  ;  and  I  was  too  tired  to  carry  on  through 
the  night,  and  fight  whole  battalions  of  deformed  fiends. 

I  saw  the  hungry  ones  pass  into  the  coffee-room,  and 
smelt  the  steak  until  I  lost  my  balance  and  joined  the  pro- 
cession. I  took  steak  twice,  and  a  few  cujis  of  tea,  and 
some  hot  pickles.  Then  I  went  to  bed.  This  was  eleven 
o'clock. 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  299 

About  t^'o  o'clock  a.m.  I  stepped  out  of  bed  at  the  rate 
of  about  a  mile  and  a  half  to  the  minute,  and  rang  for  a 
Sedlitz.  The  boots  brought  it  at  once,  filled  a  tumbler  half 
full  of  water,  and  added  the  powder ;  but  there  was  nothing 
to  stir  it  with.  I  said  I  would  look  in  my  clothes  for  a  pen- 
cil. Cut  he  said  he  could  manage  it  well  enough,  and  imme- 
diately drew  forth  a  venerable  pocket-comb,  and  proceeded 
to  agitate  the  powder  with  it  in  a  prompt  yet  graceful  man- 
ner, and  then  passed  the  glass  to  me.  I  thanked  him  for 
the  infinitude  of  his  resources,  but  told  him  I  would  let  the 
powder  settle  before  I  drank  it,  as  the  sediments  disturbed 
my  stomach. 

In  the  morning  we  walked  beyond  several  canal-locks  to 
the  boat,  —  a  canal-steamer  of  good  size  and  speed,  —  and 
began  our  trip  to  Inverness. 

Opposite  Bannavie  is  a  mountain  whose  summit  is  per- 
petually covered  with  snow,  and  there  is  one  man  who  hopes 
it  always  will  be  so.  He  has  a  farm  at  the  base,  and  holds 
the  lease  without  payment  until  the  snow  disappears  from 
the  mountain-top.  Twice  within  his  occupation  has  the 
August  sun  nearly  deprived  him  of  his  home.  It  is  a  singu- 
lar contract,  but  no  more  so  than  many  which  exist  through- 
out the  old  country,  arising  from  the  eccentricity  of  the  lords 
of  the  soil.  In  the  suburbs  of  London  a  man  has  a  block 
of  buildings.  He  pays  the  ground-rent  regularly,  as  his 
fathers  did  before  him.  The  ground-rent  is  a  single  barley- 
corn, which  he  carries  to  the  noble  owner,  with  becoming 
gravity,  every  Michaelmas  Day ;  and  the  owner  receives  it  as 
circumspectly  as  if  it  were  several  hundred  pounds. 

Dean  Stanley  rents  a  property  for  which  he  receives  a  lump 
of  earth  every  rent-day.  But,  then,  this  is  more  sensible 
than  either  the  snow  or  barleycorn ;  for,  if  he  keeps  every 
lump  of  earth,  he  will  soon  have  another  piece  of  real  estate. 

The  artificial  channel,  or  that  portion  of  the  Caledonia 
Canal  which  connects  Lochs  Oich  and  Ness,  abounds  with 


300  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

locks.  We  have  several  which  lift  us  up  to  a  4evel  high 
above  the  lakes,  and  another  series  which  let  us  down  to  the 
lake  level. 

We  got  out  again  at  the  beginning  of  the  locks,  and  walked 
to  Fort  Augustus,  —  three  miles.  As  we  approached  Fort 
Augustus,  we  met  several  women  selHng  oatcake  and  milk. 

The  oatmeal-cake  is  common  in  this  country.  One  of 
the  national  characteristics  of  Scotland  is  oatmeal.  Made 
into  cakes,  it  is  thin,  a  whitish  brown,  and  resembles  some- 
what home-made  yeast-cakes.  I  can  describe  its  appearance 
with  ease  ;  but  no  words  of  mine  or  of  any  other  man  can 
give  an  adequate  idea  of  its  taste. 

It  was  the  staple  article  of  food  in  the  early  wars  of  this 
people  ;  and,  after  taking  a  bite,  one  ceases  to  wonder  at  the 
reckless  bravery  they  displayed.  I  ate  only  two  square 
inches  of  a  thin  cake,  and  was  immediately  seized  with  a 
ferocious  desire  to  stab  somebody.  In  fact,  I  tried  to 
inveigle  the  boatswain  back  of  the  pilot-house,  with  a  sincere 
determination  to  cut  him  open  ;  and,  had  he  not  been  other- 
wise engaged,  he  would  to-day  be  gathered  to  his  fathers 
and  other  relatives. 

I  have  not  touched  the  cake  since. 

Another  article  of  sale  at  Fort  Augustus  was  walking-sticks. 
Those  would  be  about  the  last  article  you  would  suppose 
any  one  would  buy ;  but  the  Scotch  and  English  passengers 
made  purchases.  Some  of  them  had  a  stick  already ;  but 
they  each  got  anotlier  one.  One  man  had  three  sticks  and 
an  umbrella;  but  he  ])0ught  one  ofthe  Fort-Augustus  sticks. 
He  told  me  that  none  of  us  could  tell  what  might  hapi)en  ; 
our  lives  hang  by  a  thread,  as  it  were  ;  and  we  couldn't  have 
too  many  sticks. 

We  now  entered  on  Loch  Ness,  with  mountains  on  both 
sides,  and  sailed  away  at  a  good  speed. 

A  gentleman  who  came  on  the  boat  at  one  of  the  piers, 
a  resident  in  the  neighborhood,  told  me  that  the  loch  was 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  301 

never  frozen  ;  and  that,  during  the  earthquake  at  Lislion,  it 
was  considerably  agitated.  How  to  account  for  this  he  did 
not  know ;  but  such  was  the  fact. 

At  Foyers,  merely  a  pier  (fourpence),  the  boat  stopped 
to  enable  the  passengers  to  see  the  celebrated  falls.  Two 
'buses  were  in  waiting,  and  were  immediately  filled  ;  while  a 
number  of  us  took  a  short  cut  up  the  side  of  the  ridge,  or 
rather  shoulder,  of  the  mountainous  range  which  hid  the 
cataract  from  us. 

On  a  level  road,  the  distance  would  not  have  been  more 
than  a  mile  ;  but  up  the  path  we  struggled  along  it  was  about 
twelve  miles  going,  and  a  half-mile  returning. 

We  stopped  at  the  top  with  the  'buses  ;  and,  passing  through 
a  rough  gate,  we  let  ourselves  down  the  steep  side,  with  the 
roar  of  the  cataract  sounding  in  our  ears.  Nearer  and 
nearer  it  grew  as  we  slipped  and  slid  toward  the  point  where 
we  were  to  observe  it,  until  we  came  out  from  the  birchens, 
and  in  sudden  and  unexpected  sight  of  the  spectacle. 

The  Niagara  Falls  and  I  are  natives  of  the  same  country. 
I  steadily  clung  to  this  fact  all  the  way  up  and  over  the  hill ; 
and  I  was  fully  prepared  to  laugh  at  this  contemptuous  at- 
tempt of  the  Scotch  to  get  up  a  falls. 

But  I  did  not  laugh.  I  stood  on  a  jutting  point  of  rock, 
about  half  way  from  the  caldron  to  the  top  of  the  falls ;  and 
I  had  the  whole  immediately  in  front  of  me.  And  so  grand 
a  spectacle  I  never  before  witnessed.  A  hundred  feet  or 
more,  the  rock  towered  on  each  side  above  where  the  river 
escaped  over  the  precipice.  Where  it  spurted  over  the  edge, 
it  was  hardly  more  than  two  feet  in  diameter,  coming  through 
an  aperture  of  that  size  worn  into  the  rock,  and  coming  with 
such  force  into  the  confined  channel,  that  it  was  actually 
twisted  partly  around  as  it  escaped,  and  plunged  a  hundred 
and  fifty  feet  down  the  precipitous  rock.  Below  was  a  cal- 
dron, boiling,  whirling,  wriggling,  struggling,  conquering,  and 
then  shooting  away  with  a  defiant  roar  through  the  gorge 
beyond. 


302  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

A  mile  and  a  half  away  from  this  spot  the  little  river  com- 
mences its  wonderful  descent,  bounding  over  rocks,  running 
along  bits  of  level  track,  lapping  up  every  rivulet  on  the  way, 
and  gathering  all  its  power  and  resources  for  this  one  grand 
leap.  Niagara  drops  down  from  its  height  with  Roman  dig- 
nity ;  the  falls  in  the  Yosemite  Valley  spend  their  strength 
before  they  reach  the  base,  and  fall  in  tatters  :  but  the  Foy- 
ers rush  through  that  aperture  like  a  rocket,  and  descend 
into  the  distant  caldron  below  with  unabated  speed.  Rising 
from  its  descent,  as  if  to  veil  its  anger,  is  an  eternal  column 
of  mist,  always  moving,  always  there.  About  on  all  sides 
are  the  blackened  crags,  wet  and  melancholy ;  and  here  and 
there  on  their  scarred  and  dreadful  faces  are  beds  of  bright 
green  moss,  and  springing  trees  of  silver-birch,  with  weeping 
twigs  and  leaves. 

So  grand,  so  solemnly  beautiful,  is  the  scene,  that  I  feel  as 
if  I  could  drop  down  on  the  jutting  rock,  and  feast  my  eyes 
forever  upon  its  glory ;  but  on  a  boatman  crying  out,  "  Hi, 
there  !  it's  time  to  go,"  I  amend  the  resolution,  and  leave 
forthwith. 

If  any  one  asks  you  what  sort  of  a  country  Scotland  is, 
you  can  reply,  without  the  faintest  vestige  of  emotion,  that  it 
is  lumpy. 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  3O3 


CHAPTER    XXXVI. 

HIGHLAND   FEATURES. 

THERE  is  nothing  of  special  historical  interest  about 
Inverness.  It  is  a  flourishing  city  of  a  few  anticjue 
and  many  modern  streets,  and  is  called  "  The  Queen  of  the 
Highlands."  Its  cemetery  occupies  an  eminence  called 
Tomnahurch,  where,  a  long  time  ago,  the  fairies  resorted  on 
moonlight  excursions,  and  had  dances,  ginger-pop,  and 
cakes.  There  are  no  fairies  now.  The  past  hundred  years 
have  been  poor  years  for  them. 

A  day  or  two  after  our  arrival  it  was  cheese  market-day, 
when  on  several  of  the  streets  were  drawn  up  an  array  of 
farmers'  carts  containing  cakes  of  the  luscious  delicacy.  The 
people  of  Great  Britain  are  mighty  fond  of  cheese,  and  are 
doing  a  vast  service  to  other  nations  by  destroying  great 
quantities  of  the  dangerous  stuff. 

Most  of  the  carts  were  attended  by  buxom  women,  with 
white  close  muslin  caps,  called  mutches,  on  their  heads. 
And  not  only  these,  but  all  the  women  of  the  lower  classes 
to  be  me*  with  in  the  Highlands,  wear  a  similar  head-gear. 

Here  and  there  on  the  main  streets  are  little  stands  for 
the  vending  of  toys  and  molasses-cakes.  They  are  attended 
by  old  women  in  mutches,  come  on  the  morning  of  market- 
day,  and  in  the  evening  go  again,  —  whither  I  don't  know. 

Inverness  is  valuable  to  a  tourist  as  giving  him  a  good 
glimpse  of  Highland  life  and  customs.     The  Highland  wo- 


304       ENGLAND  FROM  A  BACK-WINDOW. 

men  of  the  lower  classes  —  and  it  is  these  classes  you  find  in 
abundance  in  the  cities,  as  there  are  many  poor  in  Britain  — 
are  of  masculine  cast,  and  wonderfully  healthy  in  appearance. 
They  are  mostly  bare-armed,  and  you  meet  them  on  every 
street.  Their  lungs  would  shame  many  a  blacksmith-bel- 
lows ;  and  when  one  of  them  comes  out  of  a  close,  and  calls 
"  Sandy  !  "  that  young  man  promptly  appears.  The  Scotch 
are  even  more  strict  in  parental  discipline  than  are  the  Eng- 
lish ;  and  that  seems  needless.  The  juveniles  are  got  to  bed 
at  an  early  hour ;  those  in  the  better  classes  retiring  at  eight 
o'clock  in  the  summer,  and  even  earlier  in  the  winter.  And 
it  is  not  only  the  foct  that  they  are  got  to  bed ;  but  they  go 
as  promptly  and  as  irresistibly  as  if  fired  out  of  a  mortar. 
At  the  table  they  ask  for  what  they  want,  and  preser\e  a 
petrified  tongue  throughout  the  meal,  unless  spoken  to.  I 
have  had  the  pleasure  of  being  entertained  by  many  families 
in  this  country ;  but  I  can  recall  no  act  of  fretfulness  by 
children  at  the  table. 

An  English  gentleman,  the  fiithcr  of  four  lovely  children, 
told  me,  if  he  thought  his  children  would  grow  up  rude  and 
disagreeable,  he  would  prefer  yielding  them  to  the  grave  now. 

The  Highland  women  form  a  picturesque  object  when 
washing  out  blankets  and  quilts,  as  they  stamp  them  with 
their  bare  feet,  their  skirts  being  pinned  up  to  their  knees. 
But  this  is  only  done  in  the  washing  of  heavy  articles,  and 
not  with  the  cleansing  of  linen,  as  the  photographic  cards  in 
the  Lowland  print-shops  would  indicate.  To  a  greater  ex- 
tent here  than  in  England  do  the  women  perform  out-door 
labor.  They  are  in  charge  of  the  farmer's  cart  of  "produce ; 
they  work  in  the  potato  and  harvest  fields  (even  cultivating 
the  grain),  in  the  fisheries,  and  also  in  the  peat-beds.  To 
all  appearance  they  are  as  strong  as  the  men,  and,  justice 
compels  me  to  add,  more  active. 

The  men  and  women  have  a  strong  brogue,  and  arc  fre- 
quently difficult  to  understand.     "  Dinna"  for  didn't,  "  yon  " 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  305 

for  those  or  that,  "  muckle "  for  much,  and  "  ken "  for 
know,  are  broad  dayhght  to  a  good  part  of  their  phrases. 
When  they  go  exclusively  into  the  Gaehc,  the  hearer  col- 
lapses at  once  :  even  a  Welshman  will  run  on  such  an  occa- 
sion. They  are  poorer  than  any  other  people  I  have  yet 
come  across ;  but  they  are  hard-working,  and  the  poverty  is 
not  altogether  their  fault. 

The  Highland  costume  is  common  in  Inverness ;  but  it  is 
not  a  common  garb  to  the  people.  It  is  worn  mostly  by  the 
gentry  in  the  hunting-season,  and  is  a  favorite  garb  with  the 
Duke  of  Edinburgh  when  in  the  Highlands.  The  measure 
adopted  after  the  rebellion  of  the  clans  in  favor  of  Prince 
Charles  Edward,  prohibiting  clan  meetings  and  the  clan 
dress,  struck  the  death-blow  to  the  most  picturesque  mascu- 
line costume  ever  in  vogue,  from  Adam  to  Dr.  Mary  Walker. 
Quite  frequently,  however,  I  meet  some  farmer  in  the  kilt 
and  stockings ;  and  there  are  a  few  in  the  Highlands  who 
wear  them  the  year  around.  They  are  not  a  most  comforta- 
ble dress  in  these  breezy,  wet  autumn  days ;  and  are  much 
less  so  in  the  winter,  when  these  hills  and  moors  are  covered 
with  snow,  and  a  keen  frosty  wind  sweeps  through  the  glens. 
The  dress  consists  now  of  a  sack-coat,  —  instead  of  the  plaid 
waist  of  former  times,  and  the  long  plaid  wrapped  about  the 
body  for  protection,  —  a  kilt,  or  a  yard  or  two  of  tartan  gath- 
ered in  tucks  at  the  upper  edge,  and  wound  about  the  hips, 
and  fastened  at  the  waist,  and  of  sufficient  width  to  permit  it 
to  reach  within  one  or  three  inches  of  the  knees.  Under 
this  is  a  pair  of  muslin  or  woollen  drawers  of  sufficient  length 
to  cover  the  thighs,  but  hardly  long  enough  to  be  re-assur- 
ing to  the  sensitive  observer  on  a  windy  day.  From  these 
drawers  to  the  tops  of  the  stockings,  which  come  nearly  up 
to  the  knees,  the  legs  are  bare,  and  are  exposed  to  all  kinds 
of  weather.  Yet  the  wearers  do  not  suffer  from  the  exposure 
any  more  than  one  does  from  having  his  face  uncovered.  I 
can  understand  this  with  those  who  were  brought  up  in  the 


306  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

dress,  and  wear  it  the  year  round  ;  but  how  those  who  adopt 
it  only  occasionally  —  the  autumn  hunting-season  being  one 
of  the  occasions  —  keep  comfortable  these  chilly  days  is 
beyond  my  comprehension.  It  is  not  a  dress  adapted  to 
blackberrying,  nor  to  a  mole  on  the  leg. 

I  was  much  struck  with  the  patient,  hopeful  expression  of 
all  classes  of  the  Highland  people  when  it  rained.  They 
moved  about  without  umbrellas,  and  were  as  composed  as  if 
in  a  tunnel.  When  it  rains  very  hard  they  put  on  an  opera- 
glass,  and  sail  around  with  a  smile.  And  it  rains  here  when 
you  ain't  looking.  There  has  been  but  one  clear  day  in  the 
past  three  weeks,  and  then  I  thought  it  was  going  to  snow. 
The  weather  is  astonishingly  uneven.  In  the  morning  the  sun 
will  come  forth  as  clear  as  amber,  and  an  hour  later  it  will 
be  drearily  raining.  Another  morning  the  sky  will  be  leaden, 
and  dripping  with  moisture,  and  every  thing  look  favorable 
for  a  "  line-storm."  You  step  into  the  hall  for  an  umbrella ; 
and  when  you  come  forth  the  sun  is  shining,  and  people  are 
swearing  at  the  street-sprinkler  for  a  lazy,  neglectful  wretch. 

The  wages  of  mechanics  are  just  about  the  same  as  they  are 
in  England  ;  but  Scotch  farm-laborers  are  now  better  paid,  get- 
ting fifteen  and  twenty  shillings  (three  dollars  and  seventy-five 
cents  and  five  dollars)  per  week.  It  was  not  long  ago  that 
they  got  less  than  two  dollars  a  week.  In  harvest-time  they 
get,  in  some  places,  six  per  cent  above  present  prices.  The 
natural  independence  of  the  people  explains  this.  When  they 
cannot  get'  enough  money  here  to  support  themselves,  they 
go  elsewhere.  At  one  time  it  did  look  as  if  the  farming 
population  would  dwindle  entirely  away,  and  the  farmers 
were  obliged  to  increase  the  pay.  There  was  no  Arch  here  : 
it  was  simply  the  law  of  supply  and  demand  regulating  mat- 
ters. The  laborers  are  hired  every  six  months.  For  this 
])urpose  there  is  held  twice  a  year,  in  the  large  cities,  a  "  fce- 
ing-markct."  It  continues  two  days  ;  and,  during  its  session, 
the  High  Street  of  the  city  is  crowded  full  of  farm-hands 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  307 

waiting  for  an  engagement,  and  of  farmers  looking  for  help. 
The  former  are  accompanied  by  their  sweethearts  or  wives, 
and  the  latter  frequently  have  their  women-folks  along.  The 
scene  is  naturally  one  of  animation.  Both  parties  are  dressed 
in  holiday  attire,  and  in  good  nature.  The  farmers  select 
their  help,  and  bind  the  engagement  by  giving  each  party  a 
shilling.  The  shilling  immediately  goes  into  active  circula- 
tion. The  swain  takes  his  girl  by  the  arm,  and  moves  to  the 
nearest  public-house  ;  and  quite  frequently  a  coveted  engage- 
ment brings  an  uncoveted  headache.  The  married  man  has, 
with  some  landlords,  a  cottage  rent-free,  and  a  bit  of  ground 
to  raise  potatoes  for  himself,  and  a  ton  or  so  of  coal  per 
annum,  with  the  wages  of  the  single  man  in  addition.  There 
is  considerable  complaint,  from  those  interested  in  alleviating 
the  condition  of  the  farming-laborers,  of  the  centralization 
of  farm-lands  into  large  estates.  The  crofts,  which  were 
allotments  farmed  by  those  of  narrow  means,  have  been  swal- 
lowed up  into  the  large  farms  ;  and  their  owners  have  been 
swept  into  the  ranks  of  the  common  laborers.  It  is  only  men 
of  some  means  who  are  now  able  to  farm ;  and  it  is  said 
of  them,  that  they  keep  themselves  separated  from  their 
working-people,  and  that,  in  consequence,  the  condition  of 
the  latter  is  steadily  lowering.  I  think  the  last  objection  can 
be  brought  against  shopmen,  brokers,  mine-proprietors,  and 
every  business-man.  This  is  a  country  of  class,  and  must 
grow  out  of  it. 

The  hours  for  labor  are  somewhat  different  from  those  in 
England,  and  strike  a  stranger  rather  oddly.  Both  mechan- 
ics and  farmers  go  to  work  at  six  a.m.,  after  a  lunch,  quit 
at  nine  o'clock  for  breakfast,  resume  work  an  hour  later,  and 
quit  at  two  o'clock  for  dinner.  At  three  o'clock  they  resume 
work,  and  stop  at  six  o'clock.  In  har\'est-time  they  gener- 
ally have  a  second  lunch  at  noon. 

The  Scotch  have  not,  strictly  speaking,  a  reputation  for 
temperance.     But  they  are  really  a  temperate  people.     No- 


308  ENGLAND    FROM    A    HACK-WIN  DOW, 

where  else,  not  even  in  Maine,  are  there  so  many  tem- 
perance hotels  as  exist  in  Scotland.  I  think  I  am  safe  in 
saying  that  one-third  of  the  Edinburgh  hotels  are  temperance. 
They  abound  in  Glasgow,  and  are  to  be  found  in  every  Scotch 
town  of  any  importance.  The  little  city  of  Stirling  has  sev- 
eral. I  do  not  stop  at  temperance  hotels  myself :  they  are 
too  noisy.  They  live  about  as  we  have  found  the  English. 
Roast  meats,  mutton-chops,  and  cauliflower  have  the  lead. 
But  they  have  a  soup,  called  Scotch  broth,  which  takes  the 
rag  off :  I  mean,  it  excels  any  soup  I  have  eaten.  Then  they 
are  isolated  in  another  dish,  —  the  oatmeal-cake.  But  we 
won't  talk  of  the  dreadful  subject. 

The  Scotch  have  a  reputation  for  being  strictly  religious, 
industrious,  and  persevering.  It  is  only  a  people  inhabiting 
a  rugged  country  like  this,  who  are  industrious  and  persever- 
ing, that  can  keep  their  noses  above  water.  It  is  not  a  culti- 
vated cohntry  like  England,  and  it  is  but  little  Uke  it  in  rural 
appearance.  Stone  walls  are  more  common  than  hedges,  and 
an  absence  of  both  is  frequently  conspicuous.  The  roads 
are  simply  turnpikes,  —  more  indebted  to  travel  than  to  the 
roadmaster  for  their  surface,  —  and  are  so  like  American 
roads  in  their  rough  face  and  straggling  footpaths  as  to  be  a 
welcome  sight  to  the  homesick  Yankee.  It  has  taken  cen- 
turies of  time  and  labor  to  subdue  the  ruggedness  of  the  land, 
and  to  bring  it  to  its  present  state  of  cultivation ;  and  the 
hardy  Scots  deser\'e  great  credit. 

The  political  history  of  Scotland  has  shown  its  people's 
indomitable  courage  ;  and  its  religious  record,  their  heroism. 
No  pcoi)le  are  more  respected  than  these  Scottish  folk.  A 
leading  characteristic  among  them  is  cautiousness.  They 
make  better  listeners  than  talkers,  and  there  is  a  spirit  of 
indcjiendence  ingrafted  in  them  that  is  strikingly  obser\al)le. 
An  ICnglish  friend  who  was  recently  in  Glasgow  called  at 
a  shop  to  purchase  a  walking-stick.  He  saw  one  near  the 
door  that  suited  him,  and,  learning  its  price,  concluded  to 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW,  309 

take  it.  Naturally  enough,  he  wanted  to  look  at  some 
others,  to  see  if  he  might  not  be  better  suited ;  but  the 
dealer,  an  old  man,  did  not  offer  to  show  him  any  more. 
Then  he  said,  "Can't  I  look  at  some  other  sticks?"  And 
the  dealer  said,  "  If  the  stick  in  your  hand  pleases  you,  why 
should  you  look  at  others?  "     That  closed  the  interview. 

But  the  statement  that  the  Scotch  lower  classes  are  not 
open  to  fees,  and  scorn  to  earn  money  in  that  way,  is  a  bit- 
ter sell. 

When  we  were  in  Edinburgh,  and  our  riding  one  day,  my 
wife's  hat  blew  off,  and  sailed  down  the  street.  The  carriage 
was  stopped  ;  and  the  driver  was  getting  do\\Ti  to  recover  the 
article,  when  a  boy  was  obser\'ed  to  pick  it  up.  I  put  my 
hand  in  my  pocket  to  reward  him  for  his  kindness ;  but  the 
moment  he  handed  up  the  hat,  and  observed  what  I  was 
doing,  he  left ;  and  although  the  driver,  whose  sympathies 
were  aroused  by  my  action,  called  lustily  to  him  to  return, 
he  would  not ;  and  we  went  on,  the  driver  sinking  into  a 
moody  silence.  But  it  pleased  me  very  much  ;  and  several 
times  I  rubbed  my  hands  in  a  satisfied  manner,  and  each 
time  repeated,  "  That's  the  spirit  for  you  !  —  that's  the  true 
Scotch  spirit  that  you  read  of !  "  I  was  doing  this  when  pay- 
ing the  driver ;  and  in  the  midst  of  it  he  observed,  "  Would 
you  mind  something  for  the  driver,  sir?"  Then  I  stopped 
doing  it,  and  I  haven't  felt  well  enough  to  do  it  again.  I 
am  not  prepared  to  state  that  feeing  is  carried  on  here  to 
the  extent  that  it  is  in  England ;  but  there  is  enough  of  it, 
in  all  conscience.  And  they  do  not  look  happier  than  the 
English  receiver  of  fees. 

Scotland  is  well  supplied  with  churches  ;  has  an  abun- 
dance of  reading-rooms  and  libraries,  and  charities.  Its  peo- 
ple are  better  educated  (thanks  to  John  Knox)  than  any 
other  —  excepting,  perhaps,  the  Prussians  —  of  European 
nations  :  they  are  hospitable,  polite,  sharply  intelligent,  and 
possess  a  fund  of  humor  that  appears  to  be  pretty  evenly 
distributed  among  them. 


310  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

The  Sunday  observances  are  rather  strict.  Licjuor-saloons 
are  closed  on  Sunday ;  and  the  hotels  are  not  permitted  to 
sell  spirits,  excepting  to  their  guests.  To  constitute  a  traveller, 
a  native  in  search  of  a  drink  must  go  the  distance  of  eight 
miles  from  his  place.  He  then  becomes  a  traveller,  and  is 
entitled  to  his  dram  from  the  nearest  public-house.  There 
is  a  rei^ort  that  there  have  been  cases  when  seven  and  a  half 
miles  have  fetched  the  coveted  beverage ;  but  I  cannot 
believe  it.  All  business,  shaving,  &c.,  is  suspended  on  Sun- 
day. 

There  is  one  feature  of  Scotch  and  English  towTis  that  is 
not  pleasant  to  travellers  who  love  cheerfulness,  however 
gratifying  it  may  be  to  clerks ;  and  that  is  the  early  closing 
movement.  Here,  before  seven  o'clock  of  an  evening,  the 
bright  shops  are  closed,  and  the  streets  are  apparent  only  by 
the  street-lamps.  On  Saturday  there  is  a  half-holiday ;  and 
all  the  shops  but  the  grocers'  put  up  their  shutters  at  noon, 
and  maintain  a  gloomy  silence  until  evening.  Scotch  shop- 
keepers always  speak  of  the  weather  when  you  go  in  to  trade, 
and  always  speak  of  it  witli  such  vivacity  that  you  are  led 
to  expect  further  communication.  But  they  generally  ilry 
up  at  once,  in  despair,  perhaps,  of  the  weather  doing  it. 
What  they  say  to  you  is,  "This  a  dull  day,  sir?"  A  Scotch 
almanac  is  not  an  elaborate  work,  being  simply,  "  About  this 
time  look  out  for  rain."  But  we  are  over  here  to  see  history 
and  ruins,  and  must  move  along. 

Culloden  station  is  four  miles,  by  the  Highland  Railway, 
from  Inverness.  We  got  down  there  to  visit  the  battle-field 
which  witnessed  the  final  attempt  of  the  house  of  Stuart  to 
overcome  the  house  of  Hanover. 

We  republicans  cannot  be  exi)ected  to  understaml  how 
a  young  refugee  from  France  couUl  command  the  inlluence 
and  muscle  of  thousands  of  British  in  the  overthow  of  their 
ruler.  In  our  country  we  elect  our  rulers  for  a  certain 
length  of  time ;   and,  at  the  end,  the  majority  re-instate  or 


ENGLAND  FROM  A  BACK-WINDOW.       3II 

replace.  *  Andrew  Johnson  would  have  a  nice  time  raising  an 
army  to  displace  Mr.  Grant,  But  Charles  Edward,  a  prince 
of  the  deposed  house  of  Stuart,  attempted  something  equally 
improbable  a  hundred  and  thirty  years  ago.  He  came  over 
to  Scotland,  raised  an  army  and  marched  into  England,  re- 
treated back  into  Scotland  before  the  Duke  of  Cumberland 
of  the  house  of  Hanover  (then  in  possession  of  the  throne), 
gathered  an  army  of  seven  thousand  men  here  at  Culloden 
for  a  final  stand  against  his  cousin  of  Cumberland,  and  ex- 
pected; by  "  cleaning  him  out "  here,  to  so  far  encourage  his 
sympathizers  throughout  Great  Britain  as  to  rally  sufficient 
numbers  around  his  standard  to  restore  it.  And  so  the  two 
forces  met  at  Culloden ;  and,  after  a  desperate  fight,  the 
Highlanders  who  backed  the  prince  were  defeated  by  the 
Lowlanders  who  opposed  him ;  and  the  young  man,  after 
sore  wanderings  and  futile  attempts  at  resuscitation,  got  back 
to  his  relative  the  King  of  France.  He  pursued  a  wrong 
course ;  and,  behold,  how  disastrous  the  result !  What  he 
should  have  done  was  to  take  the  money  contributed  by  zeal- 
ous followers,  sue  the  house  of  Hanover  for  ten  thousand 
dollars'  damages  (thus  get  his  name  before  the  public),  and 
then  gone  into  the  lecture-field  at  two  hundred  and  fifty  dol- 
lars per  night.  Or  he  might  have  bought  a  saloon  in  New 
York,  got  on  the  Board  of  Public  Works,  and  died  worth  a 
million,  and  universally  respected  by  everybody. 

All  this  country  is  immediate  to  the  north  coast  of  Scot- 
land ;  and  from  the  third  century,  when  the  religion  of  our 
Saviour  was  introduced  into  Scotland  from  Ireland,  this  part 
of  the  country  has  been  busy.  The  stone  circles  abound  all 
about  here,  but  more  numerously  in  the  back  mountains. 
They  are  simply  whole  or  broken  concentric  circles  of  upright 
bowlders.  They  are  supposed  to  be  relics  of  the  Druidical 
religion  ;  and,  as  I  am  not  prepared  to  doubt  the  supposition, 
I  discreetly  keep  silence  when  people  show  them  to  me. 

Right  where  we  are  now  skimming  along  at  the  rate  of 


312  ENGLAND    FROM    A    IJACK-WINDOW. 

tliirty  miles  an  hour  the  fishy-smelling  Norwegians  toiled 
over  the  sands,  and  met  the  big-limbed  and  not  particu- 
larly fine-flavored  Scots  and  whipped  them  out,  and  stole 
whom  they  didn't  kill,  and  destroyed  what  they  couldn't  lift. 
And  here  also  the  Danes  came,  and  were  beaten  back  by 
Macbeth,  the  chief  of  King  Duncan's  army,  and  an  aspirant 
to  his  master's  throne  :  so  I  ha\e  understood.  The  vessels 
of  the  Nonvegians  were  shaped  like  a  dragon,  and  frightened 
the  people.  After  inventing  the  dragon,  it  is  noticeable  that 
man  has  not  attempted  to  outdo  the  job.  Everybody,  upon 
seeing  a  dragon,  frankly  admits  that  it  is  the  climax  of  woe. 
So  these  boats  were  shaped  like  a  dragon,  with  the  grinning 
head  as  a  prow  cleaving  the  waters,  and  bringing  death, 
agony,  and  garlic  to  this  fair  land.  Each  boat  had  a  single 
sail,  formed  of  the  American  national  colors ;  and  the  crew, 
working  at  their  long  oars,  sang,  "  Three  cheers  for  the  red, 
white,  and  blue  ! "  "Who  will  care  for  mother  now?"  and 
other  Nor\vegian  anthems  of  that  dim  and  misty  long-ago. 
One  of  the  Norwegian  chiefs  met  with  a  singular  fate.  He 
had  killed  a  brave  Scotchman  called  Luck-Tooth,  —  from 
the  fact  that  one  of  his  front-teeth  protruded  unpleasantly,  — 
and  cut  off  his  head,  as  was  allowed  in  those  times,  and  fas- 
tened it  into  his  girdle,  and  galloped  away.  He  was  going  to 
have  it  mounted  with  silver,  for  a  bosom-pin ;  but,  in  the 
motion  of  the  gallop,  the  buck-tooth  wore  into  his  thigh,  and 
made  a  wound,  from  which  he  died.  This  opens  the  cjues- 
tion,  ^\'hat  sort  of  tobacco  did  the  people  of  those  days 
chew  ? 

A  few  miles  beyond  Culloden  is  Forres,  where  I  stoi)p(.d 
for  two  hours.  No  one  says  much  of  Forres  ;  but  it  is  a  lit- 
tle place  of  considerable  interest.  Forres  has  a  witch-stone 
(on  which  three  of  those  miserable  women  were  executed  by 
people  who  showed  in  themselves  that  there  was  a  peg  lower 
in  the  scale  of  dei)ravity  than  that  on  which  witchcraft  hung), 
and  a  stone  called  Sweno's  Stone,  which  is  certainly  worth 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  313 

going  to  see.  This  curious  monument  is  of  grayish  granite, 
oblong  in  shape.  It  rises  twenty  feet  above  ground,  and  is 
said  to  be  the  same  length  beneath  the  earth.  It  is  about 
two  feet  in  width,  and  about  half  that  in  thickness  at  the 
base,  and  tapers  to  less  than  half  that  at  the  top,  being  wedge- 
shaped.  The  top  is  covered  with  sheet  lead  to  protect  it. 
On  one  side  is  carved  a  runic  cross,  formed  of  runic  knots, 
and  very  finely  done.  Below  the  cross  are  four  figures, 
two  of  them  bending  over  some  object.  On  the  reverse  side 
are  innumerable  figures,  standing  horizontally  and  perpen- 
dicularly, with  an  expression  to  their  bodies  as  if  they  were 
feeling  their  way  over  thin  ice,  —  a  very  common  character- 
istic of  all  ancient  sculptures. 

The  stone  stands  in  a  wheat-field,  surrounded  by  a  stock- 
ade of  rough  timber,  about  ten  feet  from  the  road,  and  is 
approached  by  crawling  through  a  hedge.  Its  origin  no 
one  knows.  A  bookseller  in  Forres,  who  contemplated  issu- 
ing a  guide  to  his  village  next  summer,  told  me  that  he  pre- 
sumed it  was  raised  when  the  Danes  filibustered  here,  and 
commemorates  one  of  their  battles,  wherein  three  of  their 
kings  met  their  death.  He  knew  nothing  of  Mr.  Sweno. 
The  figures  are  so  indistinct,  that  no  intelligible  significance 
can  be  attached  to  them.  I  do  not  favor  the  Dane  theory. 
The  rude  people  they  came  to  rob  could  neither  have  de- 
signed nor  executed  such  a  work  ;  and  the  Danes  themselves 
were  not  here  a  sufficient  length  of  time  to  have  performed 
it ;  and,  had  they  been,  it  is  not  at  all  likely  the  fiery  and 
avenging  Scots  would  have  permitted  it  to  remain  any  longer 
than  was  necessary  to  break  it  down. 

It  is  rarely  that  I  go  into  an  abstruse  question  like  this ; 
but,  when  I  do,  a  general  feeling  of  satisfaction  and  content- 
ment follows.  ' 

An  English  gentleman  complimented  me  recently  on  the 
historical  features  of  my  letters.  He  told  me  that  I  was 
putting  an  entirely  new  face  on  matters.     He  said  others  may 


3T4  ENGLAND    FROM    A    RACK-WINnOW. 

follow  Macaulay,  White,  Motley,  and  all  the  rest ;  but  I  am 
the  historian  for  his  money.  This  naturally  gratified  me.  To 
tell  the  truth,  I  have  not  been  satisfied  in  the  last  fifteen 
years  with  the  way  history  is  managed. 

These  Britons  won't  know  their  history  when  I  get  through 
with  it. 

It  was  at  Forres  that  Shakspeare  locates  his  Macbeth.  I 
don't  know  what  size  Forres  could  have  been  at  that  time 
(eight  hundred  years  ago)  ;  but  it  now  has  three  thousand 
population  ;  and,  as  it  is  still  growing,  there  is  no  telling  to 
what  limits  it  will  push  in  the  next  twenty-five  or  thirty  cen- 
turies. 

The  blasted  heath  where  Macbeth  met  the  three  witches, 
—  there  was  no  daily  press  in  those  days,  —  and  learned  of 
his  preferment  at  court,  is  still  in  this  neighborhood,  and  is 
as  scrawny  and  scraggy  as  ever. 

Near  the  station  are  the  ruins  of  the  castle  where  Macbeth 
and  his  fair  wife  entertained  King  Duncan,  and  wound  up 
the  entertainment  by  stabbing  the  old  gentleman.  It  was  a 
very  filling  feast  for  him. 

But  two  of  the  basement  arches  are  standing,  and  the  first 
floor  is  now  covered  by  turf  and  grass  formed  there  in  the 
past  several  centuries  by  the  winds  of  heaven.  I  went  doAvn 
into  the  vaults  and  fell  over  a  box,  and  meditated  on  the 
tragic  scene  that  was  enacted  there. 

I  have  subsequently  ascertained  that  the  ruins  are  of  a 
building  which  a  Forres  town-officer,  with  more  aspiration 
than  means,  started  for  his  own  glory  and  occuj^ation  in  the 
last  century,  and  didn't  get  above  the  first  fioor,  and  that 
King  Duncan  was  killed  in  battle  at  Elgin. 

I  have  started  for  Elgin  to  learn  the  particulars. 


ENGLAND    FROM   A    BACK-WINDOW.  315 


CHAPTER    XXXVII. 


ELGIN   AND   ITS   SIGHTS. 


THE  Romans  are  the  only  travellers  who  did  not  enjoy 
this  country.  They  remained  about  Stirling  and  below 
there  for  years,  but  staid  here  no  longer  than  was  necessary 
to  repack  their  luggage.  This  country  must  have  been  wild 
and  rugged  then,  with  a  people  clothed  in  skins,  and  colored 
with  pigment.  There  were  no  hotels  nor  ruins  from  Aber- 
deen to  the  base  of  the  mountains.  History  had  woven  no 
spell  over  the  country.  I  don't  blame  them  for  not  staying. 
But  it  is  different  now.  There  is  not  a  square  foot  of 
this  ground  but  has  tasted  blood,  or  witnessed  intrigue : 
there  are  not  two  square  feet,  anyway,  but  are  thus  distin- 
guished. To  go  over  this  section  of  Scotland,  observing 
every  old  castle  and  ruin  and  battle-scene,  would  be  a  labor 
of  months.  For  the  matter  of  ruins,  Elgin  will  hold  its  own 
against  anyplace  in  Scotland,  excepting,  perhaps,  St.  Andrew's. 
A  curious  place  is  Elgin.  It  is  a  village  of  eight  thousand 
population ;  but  I  never  heard  of  it  till  I  came  to  Scotland. 
But  I  don't  suppose  there  is  a  soul  in  Scotland  who  has  not 
heard  of  Duluth.  Elgin  has  two  railway-stations,  one  of 
them  covered  with  iron  and  glass  ;  while  pendent  from  the 
roof  are  delicate  vines,  with  bunches  of  flowers  that  sweep 
within  a  foot  of  the  passenger's  head.  It  has  two  hotels, 
and  about  forty  inns,  which  accommodate  nothing  but  thirst, 
and  appear  to  be  full  all  the  time.     It  has  a  High  Street,  -^ 


3l6  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WIXDOW. 

long,  narrow,  and  irregular,  —  quaint  ancient  buildings  along 
its  sides,  and  a  venerable  cross  in  its  centre,  with  the  closest, 
mustiest,  and  gloomiest  closes  outside  of  Edinburgh.  From 
the  dates  on  some  of  these  tenements,  they  are  from  two  to 
three  hundred  years  old,  and  bid  fair  to  stand  three  times 
that  length  of  time.  Like  all  the  old  buildings  throughout 
Scotland,  they  are  built  of  fence-wall  stone,  covered  with  a 
cement  of  concrete,  and  whitewashed.  Many  of  the  roofs 
are  made  of  gray-stone  'flags,  lapping  like  slates,  but  quarried 
before  slates  were  known  here.  The  red  tile,  so  common  in 
England,  is  but  little  used  here  comparatively. 

At  one  end  of  the  High  Street  is  a  grassy  knoll,  with  a  lofty 
monument  to  a  Duke  of  Gordon,  and  the  broken  walls  of  a 
castle  that  was  in  ruins  several  hundred  years  ago,  and  which 
are  now  but  mere  stone  stubble.  The  stones  are  melting 
away,  leaving  the  much  harder  mortar  to  continue  the  battle 
against  the  elements.  Nobody  knows  how  they  made  their 
mortar  so  outrageously  hard  in  those  days  ;  and  nobody  wants 
to,  unless  he  is  building  for  himself.  There  is  but  a  portion 
of  the  hill  devoted  to  the  stumpy  walls  of  the  castle  ;  but  it 
must  have,  at  one  time,  covered  the  entire  surface,  as  they 
did  not  go  in  much  for  croquet-lawns  in  those  days,  and 
generally  planned  where  their  apple-peelings  and  other  swill 
could  go  down  the  hill  out  of  smelling-distance  when  flung 
from  a  back-window.  It  is  said  of  this  castle,  that  once,  when 
it  was  occupied,  a  pest  in  the  shape  of  a  ball  of  blue  fire 
descended  from  heaven  upon  it,  and  infected  all  the  inmates, 
and  that  the  superstitious  inhabitants  of  the  village  gathered 
together  and  covered  the  castle  with  earth,  burying  the  occu- 
pants in  a  living  tomb.  It  was  done  in  one  night.  The  only 
trouble  with  that  story  is  its  corpulency. 

Imagine,  if  you  can,  a  couple  hundred  men.  with  shovels, 
at  the  base  of  a  hill  fifty  feet  high,  covering  a  quarter  of  an 
acre  of  castle  at  the  toj)  with  dirt.  But  the  tradition  does 
not  say  tliat  they  used  sliovels  :  perhaps  they  merely  sat  on  the 
castle. 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    RACK-WINDOW.  317 

A  short  distance  down  the  High  Street  is  the  old  town- 
cross,  from  which  proclamations  were  once  made ;  but  the 
town-crier  now  occupies  the  scjuare  when  delivering  his  dead- 
ly harangues.  The  cross  is  a  shaft  of  granite,  round,  and 
worn  smooth  by  the  little  Scotchmen  who  have  climbed  it  in 
the  past  centuries.  Near  the  top  it  is  four-square,  and  on 
each  face  is  a  sun-dial ;  above  is  a  unicorn.  Sun-dials  are 
on  nearly  all  the  old  buildings  ;  and  although  this  sun-dial  has 
been  in  use  many,  many  generations,  it  keeps  time  as  correct- 
ly as  the  Greenwich  Observatory.  I  have  not  yet  seen  a  sun- 
dial that  was  incorrect ;  and  yet  we  laugh  at  the  ancients. 

At  the  foot  of  High  Street  are  the  ruins  of  Elgin  Cathedral. 
It  is  safe  to  say,  that,  where  one  person  visits  Elgin  Cathedral, 
twenty-five  go  to  view  Melrose  Abbey ;  and  yet  the  cathe- 
dral, for  extent  and  beauty,  is  the  peer  of  the  abbey.  The 
building  is  nearly  six  hundred  years  old,  and  has  had  vicissi- 
tudes enough  to  make  it  an  interesting  monument.  It  was 
hardly  completed  when  a  young  man  named  Stuart,  a  son 
of  King  Robert  the  Second,  who  had  taken  to  the  mountains, 
—  just  as  high-spirited  boys  in  these  days  run  away  and  take  to 
the  canal,  —  and  soon  graduated  into  a  very  successful  thief, 
was,  for  some  deviltry  of  unusual  magnitude,  excommunicated 
by  the  bishop  of  the  diocese.  In  revenge  he  came  down  from 
the  mountains  with  his  gang,  sacked  the  sacred  edifice,  near- 
ly destroying  it,  and  burned  the  bishop's  house  and  a  good 
part  of  the  city.  Where  the  cross  now  stands  he  got  down 
on  his  bare  knees,  and  begged  pardon  ;  and  it  was  granted, 
on  condition  that  he  would  foot  the  expense  of  repairing 
the  cathedral.  A  century  or  so  later,  "  the  lord  of  the  isles," 
whoever  that  individual  was,  swooped  down  upon  the  church, 
and  robbed  it  of  its  gold  and  silver.  Still  later,  it  was  the 
theatre  of  deeds  of  violence  committed  by  two  neighboring 
families,  —  the  Innes  and  Dunbars,  who  were  constantly  in 
hot  water  with  each  other ;  and  so  great  was  their  feud,  that 
not  even  the  sanctity  of  the  cathedral  afforded  a  protection. 


31 8  ENGLAND    FROM    A    RACK-WINDOW. 

The  Dunbars  were  suri:)rised  one  night  while  worshipping 
there,  and  were  put  to  death ;  and,  in  retaliation,  a  party  of 
the  Inncs  met  the  same  fate  in  front  of  the  altar  at  the  hands 
of  the  Dunbars.  The  fruits  of  this  dreadful  warfare  are  still 
seen  in  New  England,  where  hosts  of  the  people  go  winter- 
greening  or  clamming  in  preference  to  running  the  risk  of 
losing  their  lives  while  quietly  worshipping  in  church. 

The  feuds  of  these  two  families  give  a  very  good  idea  cf 
the  untamed  passions  of  those  days,  in  that  several  tradesmen 
entered  a  protest  against  the  draught  on  their  time  made  by 
sitting  on  juries  to  settle  the  differences.  The  hardship  was 
somewhat  aggravated  by  the  fact  that  they  had  no  interest 
in  the  matters,  and,  as  the  petition  dryly  observes,  "knaw 
na  thing  thairof  mair  nor  thai  that  dwallis  in  Jherusalem." 
So  our  jury  system  of  this  day  has  age,  if  not  sense,  to  sanc- 
tion it. 

Among  its  other  relics  of  the  past,  Elgin  has  a  charity 
called  "  Eide-house."  It  was  endowetl  by  somebody  who  died 
centuries  ago.     Over  the  arch  is  this  text,  in  old  English,  — 

"  Blessed  is  he  that  considereth  the  poor  :  the  Lord  will 
deliver  him  in  time  of  trouble." 

Millions  can  testify  to  the  truth  of  tliis  utterance.  The 
house  accommodates  four  men,  who  are  tradesmen  in  indi- 
gent circumstances.  When  one  dies,  his  wife,  if  he  have  one, 
ceases  to  reap  further  benefit  from  the  institution ;  and  his 
place  is  filled  by  some  other  unfortunate.  The  only  ilis- 
charge  is  by  death.  The  recipients  of  the  charity  are  called 
"  Bide-men  ;  "  and  each  one  has  a  share  of  the  house,  a  bit  of 
garden  to  cultivate,  and  fifty-two  dollars  and  a  half  in  money 
per  annum  for  his  support.  His  apartments  are  by  himself, 
and  his  patch  of  ground  is  opposite  his  door :  so  he  has 
really  a  nice  little  home  all  to  himself  and  wife,  and  can 
live  comfortably  the  balance  of  his  days. 

Before  England  and  Scotland  perfected  an  amicable  union, 
there  used  to  be  slight  differences  between  them ;  and  every 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    HACK-WINDOW.  319 

little  while  each  party  would  go  over  into  the  other's  country 
to  see  about  it.  However  many  or  few  went  over  to  see 
about  it,  far  less  returned.  The  English  one  time  lost  thirty 
thousand  of  their  number  in  one  of  these  little  calls.  To 
shut  off  these  excursions,  the  border-people  erected  square 
towers  of  stone ;  and  a  number  of  them  are  still  remaining. 
A  similar  tower,  called  "The  Caxton,"  from  the  name  of  the 
family  building  it,  stands  within  four  miles  of  Elgin.  It  is 
about  twenty  feet  square  and  forty  feet  high,  and  has  three 
floors,  besides  a  sort  of  cellar,  where  the  good  farmer  on 
whose  land  it  stands  keeps  his  milk.  The  entrance  to  the 
first  floor  is  about  eight  feet  from  the  ground,  and  was  once 
approached  by  a  ladder,  but,  on  these  peaceful  days,  has  a 
series  of  substantial  stone  steps.  It  is  entirely  fire-proof, 
there  being  no  wood  about  it  but  that  used  in  the  door ;  and 
this  is  backed  by  a  strong  lattice  of  iron.  Its  walls  are  of 
enormous  thickness  ;  and  its  roof  is  of  flagging,  laid  together 
like  a  floor.  The  walls  are  pierced  for  the  defenders  to  fire 
from ;  and  the  door  is  protected  by  two  turrets  leading  off 
from  the  top  floor,  and  so  pierced  that  those  occupying  them 
could  cover  the  entrance  with  their  guns.  It  was  an  ingen- 
ious and  successful  contrivance  by  the  Caxtons  to  protect 
themselves  from  their  too  sociable  neighbors,  who,  like  many 
Americans  of  the  present  day,  were  addicted  to  giving  "  sur- 
prise-parties." Not  that  I  wish  to  be  understood  as  repre- 
senting that  they  were  of  a  similar  nature  to  the  modern 
affairs.     Heaven  forbid  that  I  should  slander  the  dead  ! 

About  three  miles  from  Caxton  Tower  is  a  church  of  the 
Druids,  —  that  mystical  and  brutal  priesthood  who  flourished 
in  Britain  until  the  dawn  of  Christ's  kingdom.  They  were  a 
simple  ^nd  unostentatious  people  in  their  edifices,  if  not  in 
their  rites.  The  churches  where  they  gathered  consisted 
simply  of  a  circle  formed  by  bowlders  planted  in  the  earth. 
These  were  the  walls  of  their  temples,  and  the  heavens  the 
roofs.     It  was  a  cheap  roof,  but  disastrous  to  the  interests 


320  ENGLAND    FROM    A    RACK-WINDOW. 

of  builders.  The  walls  of  the  old  Dniid  church  near  Ur- 
ghuart  are  perfect,  although  two  thousand  years,  if  not  four 
thousand,  have  come  and  gone  since  they  were  erected. 
There  are  scores  of  bowlders  about  Danbury  just  like  these. 
There  are  six  of  them ;  but  there  were  nine  when  the  circle 
was  complete.  It  was  then  about  forty  feet  in  diameter.  It 
was  a  simple  ruin,  simply  surrounded,  being  in  a  meadow 
near  the  road.  You  might  pass  them  forty  times  without 
taking  much  notice  of  them,  excepting  remarking  upon  their 
number.  It  was  a  lonesome  place  for  a  church,  and  almost 
too  lonesome  for  a  ruin.  There  was  not  a  house  in  sight,  — 
merely  a  stretch  of  fields  rising  and  falling  as  far  as  the  eye 
could  reach.  What  an  altogether  different  aspect,  when  the 
Druids,  with  their  flowing  beards  and  robes,  stood  within 
this  charmed  circle,  and  plunged  the  knife  into  the  human 
sacrifice,  and  incanted  as  the  victim  convulsed  in  the  fatal 
grip  of  the  last  enemy  ! 

The  peaceful  pursuit  of  agriculture  was  unkno\\'n.  Dark 
forests  spread  their  veil  over  hill  and  dale,  untouched  by  the 
patentee  of  "  purely  vegetable  extracts." 

This  reminds  me  that  the  descendants  of  the  Druids,  the 
present  British  people,  sell  spinach  by  the  pound,  fish  and 
fowls  by  the  piece,  and  that  the  grocers,  while  cheerfully 
delivering  your  purchases  to  any  part  of  the  city,  finnly  but 
kindly  decline  to  include  eggs  in  the  delivery.  The  customer 
must  attend  to  the  eggs  himself,  or  go  without  them. 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    RACK-WINDOW.  32I 


CHAPTER    XXXVIII. 

THROWING  THE   CABER. 

THERE  was  to  be  an  exhibition  by  a  district  athletic 
society,  in  the  httle  village  of  Tomintoul,  while  I  was 
in  Elgin ;  and,  as  the  programme  included  Highland  games, 
I  determined  to  attend.  Tomintoul  is  strictly  a  Highland 
village,  but  so  obscure,  that  Scotch  friends  advised  me  not  to 
go.  They  said  it  was  fourteen  miles  from  the  nearest  railway- 
station,  and  was  altogether  dilapidated.  When  I  heard  that, 
I  became  simply  feverish  for  the  trip.  Two  reporters  went 
along.  We  reached  a  station  called  Ballindalloch,  and 
there  found  a  machine  in  waiting.  When  I  say  a  machine, 
I  do  not  wish  to  be  understood  as  referring  to  a  patent  saw- 
mill, or  any  thing  of  that  kind.  The  Scotch  address  as  "  a 
machine  "  what  the  English  denominate  "  a  trap,"  and  what 
we  would  call  "  a  carriage."  The  animal  which  propelled, 
and  the  elderly  gentleman  who  instigated  the  animal,  were 
both  of  about  the  same  age,  —  seventy  odd,  —  and  had,  un- 
doubtedly, experienced  similar  vicissitudes  through  the  long 
course  of  their  lives. 

The  ride  to  Tomintoul  was  a  most  enjoyable  one,  even 
under  these  circumstances.  The  old  gentleman  was  talka- 
tive and  posted,  and  the  few  traditions  and  local  incidents 
which  slipped  through  his  fingers  could  not  have  amounted 
to  much.  The  road  ran  through  Glen  Levit  for  a  greater 
part  of  the  way,  passing  the  famous  distillery  which  takes  its 


322  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

name  from  the  district,  l)y  two  castle-ruins  and  several  tem- 
l)les  of  the  Druids.  It  skirted  one  of  the  ridges,  and  kejjt  a 
pretty  good  level  the  entire  distance,  although  the  country 
was  remarkably  mountainous.  We  went  by  one  burn  (brook) 
where  once  a  terrible  battle  was  fought  between  two  venom- 
ous clans ;  and  so  deadly  and  disastrous  was  the  fight,  that 
the  waters  of  the  burn  ran  red  with  blood  for  three  days. 
There  can  be  no  doubt  of  this,  as  the  burn  is  still  here.  The 
old  party  became  quite  animated  in  relating  the  valorous  feats 
of  the  Highlanders;  and,  seeing  the  subject  pleased  him,  I 
kindly  dipped  into  some  particulars  myself,  and  fervidly 
reviewed  the  battles  of  the  clans  of  which  I  had  either  read 
or  heard. 

The  country  we  passed  through  partook  of  all  the  features 
of  genuine  Highland  scenery.  There  were  cultivated  fields, 
slopes  of  pasture,  running  water,  glens,  hills  of  fir,  mountains 
of  heather,  and  levels  of  peat. 

When  about  half  through  our  journey,  we  came  upon  an 
exclusively  bleak  section.  The  principal  product  appeared 
to  be  peat,  of  which  there  were  immense  beds.  Most  of 
the  labor  was  performed  by  man's  dearest  earthly  treasure,  — 
woman.  The  ladies  wheeled  the  peat  from  the  beds  to  the 
drying-flats,  and  reared  it  into  artistic  piles.  I  hardly  know 
how  the  wheels  of  government  and  peat-barrows  would  re- 
volve if  it  were  not  for  the  fair  sex,  as  some  one  calls  them. 
.  Wild  moors  stretched  away  to  the  mountains  on  each  side, 
and  over  them  the  wind  whistled  mournfully.  Here  and 
there  was  a  squalid  cottage,  with  its  dingy  walls,  once  white- 
washed, and  its  broken  roof  of  thatch.  Occasionally  there 
was  a  collection  of  them,  with  a  post-office  in  one,  and  one 
or  two  of  the  others  containing  boards,  with  the  announce- 
ment in  little  black  letters,  "  Licensed  to  sell  tea  and  to- 
bacco." 

A  more  cheerless  and  unattractive  district  cannot  l>e  found 
in  the  Rocky  Mountains.     The  only  relief  to   it   was   the 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    RACK-WINDOW.  323 

heather,  whose  purple  blossom,  now  in  full  bloom,  softened 
the  lofty  contour  of  the  mountains,  and  veiled  their  rugged 
faces. 

Coming  over  the  hill  upon  Tomintoul,  we  saw  before  us 
a  line  of  stone  liouses,  with  more  thatched  than  slate  roofs. 
The  buildings  aj^peared  to  be  pretty  much  of  one  pattern, 
and  the  most  of  them  were  rather  squalid.  Almost  the 
entire  village  was  built  on  the  High  Street,  which  was  devoid 
of  pavement,  and  showed  numerous  signs  of  neglect. 
Queen  Victoria  passed  through  here  when  on  her  Highland 
tour,  and  in  her  book  spoke  disparagingly  of  Tomintoul. 

The  public  square,  of  some  two  acres,  is  divided  by  the 
High  Street.  In  one  of  the  divisions  the  games  were  held, 
and  the  observers  had  already  assembled.  They  consisted, 
for  the  most  part,  of  plain-looking  country-people.  The 
females  were  cheerfully  decked  in  bright  colors,  selected  and 
blended  with  rural  taste.  The  masculines  moved  around 
uneasily  in  their  holiday  clothes,  and  smoked  clay  pipes. 
Of  course  there  were  exceptions ;  but  this  was  the  appear- 
ance of  the  mass.  I  judge  there  were  scarcely  two  hundred 
men,  women,  and  children  present,  with  a  promising  assort- 
ment of  dogs. 

About  a  half-acre  of  ground  was  enclosed  by  a  rope,  and 
within  this  space  the  prizes  were  competed  for.  Around 
three  sides  of  the  square,  both  inside  and  outside  of  the  rope, 
were  grouped  the  observers,  the  greater  part  of  them  stand- 
ing. I  had  expected  to  see  a  large  green  enclosed  by 
boards,  with  several  hundred  people,  two  or  three  refresh- 
ment-stands, a  band  of  music,  and  a  price  of  admission. 
But  here  it  was,  with  a  rope  merely  for  appearance,  and  free 
to  all,  —  a  humble,  unique  gathering,  which  interested  me  by 
its  novelty,  and  pleaserj  me  by  the  hearty  good-nature  of 
everybody.  Tomintoul  is  a  poverty-stricken  section,  and 
every  thing  was  unpretentious  and  humble  ;  but  that  they 
enjoyed  it  heartily,  unmindful  of  their  rusty  village,  and  mis- 


324  ENGLAND    FROM    A    nACK-WINDOW. 

crahle  High  Street,  and  squalid  suburbs,  there  can  be  no 
doubt. 

For  ages  these  Highland  games  have  been  in  vogue. 
Generations  ago,  when  clan  organizations  were  maintained, 
the  several  families  participating  marshalled  their  clans  to 
the  music  of  the  bagpipe  ;  and,  with  banners  flying  and  every 
man  in  kilt,  they  gayly  a[)proached  the  rendezvous,  forming 
a  spectacle  that  must  have  been  very  exhilarating.  But  now 
they  straggle  together,  like  our  people  going  to  a  fair.  Few 
are  in  Highland  costume,  and  the  parade  and  pomp  of  for- 
niej  days  have  disappeared  with  things  of  the  past. 

About  fifteen  or  twenty  of  those  assembled  to-day  were  in 
full  tartan,  coat  and  all,  with  the  purse,  with  its  tufts  of  hair, 
hanging  at  the  front,  and  a  dirk,  sheathed  in  the  stocking, 
on  the  right  leg. 

The  games  commenced  with  the  throwing  of  the  stone, 
being  a  bowlder  weighing  some  twenty  pounds.  They  call 
it  "  putting  the  stone."  There  were  six  competitors,  all  from 
the  neighborhood,  and,  like  those  competing  through  the  day, 
the  straitest  kind  of  Highlander.  A  party  named  Fleming, 
powerfully  as  well  as  shapely  built,  won  the  first  prize,  throw- 
ing the  bowlder  nearly  forty  feet.  He  is  a  professional  in 
the  business,  and  makes  a  good  bit  of  money  in  the  course 
of  a  twelvemonth,  my  old  gentleman  informed  me. 

Next  was  the  throwing  of  the  heavy  hammer.  There  were 
nine  competitors.  The  hammer  consisted  of  an  iron  ball 
weighing  twenty-two  pounds,  with  a  wooden  handle  about 
three  feet  in  length.  The  competitor  first  braced  himself 
with  his  back  to  the  space,  and  then,  carefully  taking  a  proper 
grip  of  the  handle,  swung  the  hammer  several  times  in  a 
circle  on  a  level  with  his  head,  and  then  flung  it.  It  was  a 
healthy  exercise,  without  doubt,  but  "not  to  the  observer, 
who  had  no  means  of  knowing  how  firmly  that  heavy  ball 
was  secured  to  the  handle.  Every  time  one  swung  it,  I  was 
sorely  tempted  to  get  behiiKl  the  first  buikling ;    but  I  kept 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  325 

to  my  post,  and  enjoyed  it  as  well  as  I  could  with  ni}'  hair 
inclining  to  stand  endwa}'s. 

Fleming  was  again  the  victor,  making  a  distance  of  eighty- 
six  feet. 

The  throwing  of  the  light  hammer  followed,  and  again 
Fleming  won.  The  hammer-business  took  up  some  two 
hours'  time  ;  and,  during  the  progress,  the  first  piper  made  his 
appearance,  and  marched  several  times  about  the  grounds, 
playing  with  all  his  soul  and  lungs.  Pipe-music,  as  a  Scotch 
friend  obser\-ed,  sounds  bonny  coming  over  a  hill,  if  you  are 
going  over  the  next  hill  at  the  same  time. 

He  was  a  gallantly- dressed  Highlander,  and,  to  a  totally 
deaf  party,  must  have  been  a  cheering  spectacle.  Shortly 
after,  two  other  pipers  came  on  the  field.  One  of  them  was 
piper  to  Sir  George  Macpherson  Grant,  whose  estate  is  at 
Ballindalloch.  Nearly  all  the  Highland  noblemen  keep  one 
or  two  pipers  on  their  estates.  One  piper  succeeded  the 
other  in  furnishing  music ;  and,  during  a  lull  in  the  heavy 
games,  they  each  gave  their  best  efforts,  marching  about  in  a 
square  as  they  played,  in  competition  for  prizes.  There  are 
worse  things  than  a  bagpipe,  except  when  it  is  being  tuned. 
The  tuning  of  a  single  bagpipe  will  imbitter  the  lives  of 
three  hundred  people  at  once. 

The  "  throwing  of  the  caber  "  was  the  point  in  the  pro- 
gramme which  interested  me  the  most,  because  I  did  not 
know  what  a  caber  was.  It  followed  the  light  hammer,  and 
proved  the  most  difficult  to  perform  •  of  all  the  feats.  The 
caber  used  on  this  occasion  was  the  trunk  of  a  young  tree 
twenty  feet  in  length,  with  a  butt  eight  inches,  and  a  top 
four  inches  in  diameter.  I  don't  know  the  weight  of  it ;  but 
you  have  the  dimensions,  and  can  figure  up  the  pounds  on 
the  basis  of  a  very  sappy  trunk.  The  competitor  took  his 
position,  and  two  men  ended  the  caber  in  front  of  him.  He 
raised  it  so  that  one  hand  could  grasp  it  at  the  butt,  and 
then,  balancing  it,  ran  a  few  steps,  and  threw  it  so  that  the 


326  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WlNnOW. 

upper  end  should  strike  the  ground,  and  the  log  turn  over. 
There  appeared  to  be  no  difiiculty,  in  this  trial,  for  the  com- 
petitors to  make  the  upper  end  of  the  log  strike  the  turf;  but 
it  would  not  go  over,  and,  in  most  instances,  scarcely  reached 
a  perpendicular.  At  Fleming's  third  trial  he  made  a  com- 
plete turn  of  the  caber,  and  won  the  first  prize.  A  foot  was 
then  taken  from  the  butt,  and  the  other  competitors  wrestled 
again  with  the  leviathan. 

One  young  man,  who  had  been  looking  on  the  wine  when 
it  was  red,  was  nearly  successful  in  heaving  the  caber  across 
my  spine.  I  would  not  permit  him  to  apologize  for  the 
failure.     I  told  him  I  was  not  one  of  the  exacting  kind. 

The  high  leap  revealed  considerable  skill  and  other  things. 
In  preparing  for  the  leap,  the  competitors  commenced 
to  shed  their  clothes.  A  man  with  red  hair,  and  red  face, 
and  red  whiskers,  was  dressed  in  tlie  Royal  Stuart  plaid, 
of  course,  from  his  shoe  to  and  including  his  Glengarry 
bonnet.  He  looked  like  a  bonfire.  I  saw  him  strip.  He 
unwound  his  plaid,  and  gave  it  to  a  friend ;  he  took  off 
another  sheet  of  flame  in  the  shape  of  his  coat  (this  left 
him  in  his  undershirt,  the  kilt  or  skirt  which  hung  from  his 
hips,  and  the  stockings)  ;  then  he  took  hold  of  the  fastening 
of  the  kilt,  and  commenced  to  undo  it.  The  perspiration 
started  out  on  my  forehead.  ^Vhat  if,  in  the  haste  of  coming 
to  the  gathering,  he  had  forgotten  his  drawers?  Slowly  the 
kilt  dropped  ofif,  and  there  he  stood.  He  had  remembered 
the  drawers.  There  they  were,  in  all  about  a  half-yard  of  un- 
bleached muslin,  no  more  than  covering  his  thighs.  Thence 
to  his  stocking-tops  he  was  bare  and  unshaven.  And  they 
were  not  bald-headed  legs,  by  any  means.  He  was  so 
])inche(l  and  contracted,  that  I  expected  every  moment  the 
keen  wind  which  was  sweeping  across  the  square  would  carry 
him  away.  He  once  took  hold  of  the  drawers  as  if  to  undo 
them,  but  did  not.  He  must  have  seen  the  frown  on  my 
face.     Several  others  stripped  in  the  same  way.     I  wa^j  in 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  327 

hopes  that  Fleming  would  jump  as  he  was.  His  body  was 
covered  with  a  gray  sack-coat ;  but  his  kilt  was  short,  and 
of  green  plaid.  In  bending  over,  or  in  the  movement  of 
the  skirt  by  the  wind,  not  a  vestige  of  drawers  could  be  seen  ; 
and  I  thought  with  horror  of  his  leaping  over  the  rod.  He 
took  off  his  sack,  and  then  undid  the  kilt.  I  turned  my  back. 
AMien  I  had  plucked  up  the  necessary  courage  to  look  around, 
he  stood  there,  clothed  in  an  undershirt,  a  little  fold  of  cloth 
about  his  thighs  (just  as  professional  g}'mnasts  wear),  and  his 
stockings.  For  the  sake  of  decency,  he  had  left  his  dirk  in 
the  right  stocking.  The  handle  screened  a  part  of  his  naked- 
ness. 

The  dancing,  which  closed  the  games,  was  on  a  small  plat- 
form laid  on  the  turf.  Highland  reels  led  off.  There  were 
nine  competitors  engaged  at  once  to  the  tornado  harmony 
of  the  pipes.  Then  there  was  a  Highland  fling,  in  which 
seven  separately  participated ;  and  these  were  succeeded 
by  the  hiiilachan,  or  reel  o'  Tulloch,  danced  by  four  High- 
landers with  great  spirit.  In  all  this  dancing  there  was 
genuine  poetry  of  motion,  without  the  hilarious  rattle  of 
American  and  Irish  jigs.  The  dancers  either  rested  one 
hand  over  their  hips,  crooked  the  other  above  their  head, 
or  kept  the  arms  down,  and  snapped  the  fingers.  One 
of  the  number  gave  forth  a  whoop.  In  this  dancing  there 
was  a  semblance  to  an  Indian  festivity.  Two  thousand  years 
ago  these  people  went  almost  naked,  and  painted  their 
bodies,  and  lived  by  hunting,  and  were  organized  into  tribes. 
The  years  progressed,  and  refining  influences  came  in : 
they  put  on  more  clothes,  rubbed  off  the  paint,  and  became 
merged  into  predatory  clans,  with  a  chief  to  rule.  To-day 
the  bare  knees,  the  shadow  of  clanship,  and  the  whoop  in 
the  dance,  are  about  all  that  is  left  of  the  Indian  features 
of  two  thousand  years  ago.  I  would  like  to  respectfully  but 
firmly  suggest  that  the  Scotch  Indians  of  two  thousand  years 
ago  left  the  Highlands  of  this  country  to  take  to  the  High- 


328  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

lands  of  America,  ami  that  they  are  the  authors  of  the  pres- 
ent Modocs  and  peace  commissions  in  America.  I  think 
they  are  the  chaps  who  wiped  out  the  mound-builders. 

The  gayety  of  the  dancing  was  most  curiously  framed. 
Here  were  the  plaids  waving  in  the  air,  bare  legs  ambling  and 
revolving,  the  pipes  whistling ;  overhead  was  a  leaden  sky ; 
along  the  horizon  were  the  bald  ridges  of  mountains ;  about 
us  were  the  gloomy-looking  stone  buildings,  some  of  them 
roofless,  and  all  of  them  deserted. 

The  sword-dance  wound  up  the  performance.  There  were 
several  competitors.  Two  swords  were  laid  on  the  platform, 
with  blades  crosseH.  Each  dancer  was  expected  to  execute 
some  ten  minutes  of  motions  about  and  among  the  blades 
without  touching  them.  As  the  dance  progressed,  the  strains 
of  the  bagpipes  increased  in  speed,  and  faster  and  faster  the 
bold  Highlanders'  legs  flew  among  the  ghstening  blades.  It 
was  an  exciting  spectacle. 

And,  radically  opposite  to  that  which  followed,  a  prize  was 
offered  for  the  best-dressed  Highlander  —  at  his  own  ex- 
pense. There  were  five  competitors.  Our  fiery  friend  was 
among  the  number.  He  blazed  forth  like  a  fresh  comet. 
There  was  a  squatty-looking  chap  in  a  peculiar  blending  of 
colors  not  common  in  their  plaids.  Then  there  was  another, 
a  fine-looking  gentleman,  clothed  throughout  in  gray  plaid, 
looking  less  picturesque  than  the  bright  colors,  and  some- 
what out  of  place  among  the  rest,  but  tastefully  dressed 
throughout.  They  stood  in  a  row,  looking  straight  ahead  in 
a  business-like  manner,  without  a  smile  upon  their  faces. 
They  stood  there  some  ten  minutes,  while  the  judges  passed 
around  them,  examining  them  as  if  they  were  strange  cattle 
suspected  of  disease. 

The  comet  got  the  prize.  He  was  the  best  dressed  —  at 
his  own  expense.  That  is,  it  was  merely  a  test  of  cost,  not 
of  taste. 

Then  there  was  a  foot-race  from  the  foot  of  the  nigged 
High  Street  to  the  scjuare. 


ENGLAND  FROM  A  BACK-WINDOW,       329 

After  that  the  competitors  and  observers  dropped  their 
identity,  and  mingled  together.  Every  room  in  the  low, 
squatty  Gordon  Arms,  and  in  the  low,  scjuatty  Richmond 
Arms,  was  filled,  as  were  also  the  stairways,  with  people. 
The  young  maids  were  kept  busy  running  up  and  down  the 
stairs  from  the  bar  to  every  nook  and  crook  in  the  two  build- 
ings capable  of  holding  two  people  and  two  glasses.  Men 
and  women  mingled ;  and  the  clinking  of  glasses,  tread  of 
feet  on  the  bare  floors,  and  loud  voices  of  those  in  debate, 
with  snatches  of  songs  from  the  more  convivial,  made  up  a 
scene  that  defies  the  power  of  my  pen.  All  the  poverty  and 
deprivations  and  bleakness  of  Highland  life  in  the  Tomin- 
toul  region  was  for  the  time  put  far  from  memory.  The 
people  were  getting  ready  for  the  ball  in  the  evening,  and 
every  soul  in  the  village  capable  of  being  out  of  bed  was  in 
or  about  those  two  inns. 

The  Grants  were  in  this  room,  sitting  on  the  bed,  lined 
against  the  walls,  occupying  the  chairs,  and  communing  at 
the  top  of  their  respective  voices ;  in  another  were  the  Gor- 
dons, similarly  engaged  ;  in  a  third,  the  Stewarts  ;  and  so  on 
all  over  the  house. 

The  Scotch  drink  less  than  the  English ;  but  there  is  far 
more  drunkenness  here  than  in  England.  And,  when  they 
are  full,  Demosthenes  nor  George  Francis  Train  could  begin 
to  talk  with  them,  and  a  boiler-factory  is  not  one-sixth  as 
noisy. 

Neither  one  of  the  caravansaries  had  any  cigars.  Tomin- 
toulers  couldn't  afford  the  luxury  of  cigars.  This  will  give 
you  a  comprehensive  glimpse  of  the  financial  prosperity  of 
.this  Highland  settlement. 

As  the  shades  of  evening  descended,  we  mounted  our 
machine  to  return  to  Ballindalloch  for  the  night.  Enthu- 
siastic friends  followed  us  out  doors,  and  swore  they  would 
never  desert  us,  and  forthwith  proceeded  to  put  their  pur- 
pose into  execution  by  clambering  up  on  the  machine.     Two 


330  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

of  ihcm  got  across  my  legs,  and  suddenly  fell  into  a  most 
violent  altercation  on  the  somewhat  unexpected  subject  of 
carrots ;  while  a  third,  wishing  to  engage  my  attention  to  a 
few  remarks  he  was  about  to  make  on  the  subject  of  infant- 
baptism,  pounded  one  of  my  feet  with  a  knife-handle  until 
it  seemed  I  would  go  mad. 

The  old  party  who  drove  us,  and  who,  from  frequent  con- 
gratulations on  the  auspicious  events  of  the  day,  was  now  in 
a  state  to  resent  almost  any  thing,  suddenly  whipped  up  his 
steed ;  and  the  movement  made  a  thorough  sweep  of  both 
the  carrots  and  the  baptism  advocates. 

We  reached  Ballindalloch  in  good  time,  having  a  delight- 
ful drive  through  the  quiet  twilight  which  covered  mountain 
and  moor,  and,  after  a  sound  sleep  in  the  little  solitary  inn, 
felt  like  a  giant  refreshed  for  a  return  to  my  cathedral 
town. 

Speaking  of  Elgin  reminds  me  of  a  reply  our  driver  made 
to  a  question  about  the  fishing  in  a  burn  we  were  i)assing. 

"  It's  nae  great  amoont  of  fish  ye'U  find  there,"  he  said. 
"  Fish  be  as  scarce  hereaboots  as  soop  (soap)  in  a  cathe- 
dral toon  (town)." 

Volumes  could  hardly  give  a  more  comprehensive  idea 
of  one  feature  of  a  cathedral  town. 


ENGLAND  FROM  A  BACK-WINDOW.       33 1 


CHAPTER    XXXIX. 

A   JUMPING-OFF   LUXURY. 

THERE  is  nothing  particularly  exciting  in  the  country 
between  Elgin  and  Aberdeen  ;  but  Aberdeen  furnishes 
quite  a  contrast  to  Elgin.  It  has  a  population  of  some 
ninety  thousand  people,  and  is  mostly  built  of  granite  :  if 
I  am  not  disastrously  mistaken,  it  is  called  the  "  Granite 
City."  Its  name  is  familiar  to  every  American  who  takes 
an  interest  in  graveyards.  I  remember  the  first  stone  from 
its  workshops  which  was  erected  in  the  Danbury  cemetery. 
It  was  two  years  before  it  had  a  fellow,  and  in  that  time 
was  visited  frequently  by  everybody,  as  its  polished  shaft 
attracted  attention  from  all  directions  in  the  grounds.  We 
call  it  Aberdeen  marble.  I  was  always  interested  in  it 
from  its  almost  supernatural  resemblance  to  a  Bologna 
sausage. 

Aberdeen  is  a  sort  of  new  town  and  old  to\vn  combined. 
The  new  town  has  Union  Street  for  its  principal  avenue ; 
and  a  very  fine  avenue  it  is.  I  did  not  learn  its  length ;  but 
it  is  as  long  as  one  cares  to  look  at  when  living  at  a  hotel, 
and  is  of  good  breadth.  At  the  head  of  Union  Street  is  the 
square ;  and  evenings  I  used  to  amuse  myself  by  going  to 
the  square,  and  looking  through  the  broad,  straight  avenue, 
marked  by  its  two  lines  of  glittering  gas-lights.  They  shot 
down  it  like  two  trails  of  flame,  and  presented  a  spectacle  I 
never  saw  equalled  in  street-scenery. 


332  ENGLAND    FROM    A    DACK-WINOOW. 

For  its  size,  Aberdeen  is  probably  the  largest  city  in  the 
world.  From  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning  until  that  hour  in 
the  evening,  Union  Street  presented  the  appearance  of  some 
one  having  jumped  out  of  a  window  in  a  fit  of  insanity. 
Several  times  in  the  first  three  days  of  my  visit  I  worked  my 
way  into  the  crowd  in  the  hope  of  seeing  a  shattered  piece 
of  humanity.  I  need  not  dwell  on  the  disappointment  I 
experienced :  it  is  the  most  acute  the  world  affords. 

Union  Street  is  a  modern  street ;  and  its  suburbs  are  decid- 
edly American,  with  their  front  lawns,  broad  sidewalks,  and 
ample  shade-trees.  The  city  end  of  the  avenue  is  a  square, 
or  rather  triangle,  where  the  markets  are  held.  In  the 
evening  the  square  was  occupied  by  fruit-stands  and  auc- 
tion-stalls, and  loungers  and  musicians.  Saturday  is  the 
chief  market-day,  and  on  the  Saturday  I  was  in  Aberdeen 
the  square  presented  a  most  singular  appearance.  No 
market-day  I  have  yet  seen  can  compare  with  it. 

Two-thirds  of  the  space  was  covered  with  booths,  and  the 
collection  consisted  almost  entirely  of  second-hand  clothing. 
The  monument  to  the  Duke  of  Gordon  was  the  centre  of 
this  traffic,  and  the  iron  fence  which  surrounded  it  was 
hidden  from  sight  by  patched  breeches,  Joseph  coats,  and 
red-flannel  undershirts ;  while  the  duke,  from  his  elevation, 
looked  down  on  the  motley  mass  with  an  expression  of  the 
liveliest  astonishment.  The  booths  consisted  simply  of  four 
poles,  and  a  flat  canvas  roof  artistically  fringed  with  articles 
of  cast-ofl"  wear.  The  people  who  tended  them  looked  as 
fully  second-hand  as  their  goods,  and  even  their  smiles 
apjjcared  to  be  about  half  worn  out.  The  articles  were  in  all 
stages  of  progress  toward  ruin,  many  of  them  being  so 
unhealthy  as  to  appear  to  be  beyond  all  hope  of  reco\ery. 
But  they  found  buyers. 

'i'hcrc  were  also  picture-dealers,  and  cutlery-merchants, 
and  old-junk-sellers.  The  chief  articles  in  the  stock  of  the 
last-named  were  rusty  nails  and  crippled  hinges.     I  thought 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  333 

of  getting  a  couple  of  each  for  birthday-presents,  but  was 
afraid  I  would  not  be  able  to  smuggle  them  across  the  Atlan- 
tic, the  custom-house  officers  are  so  dreadfully  sharp. 

Second-hand  clocks  which  looked  as  if  they  had  been 
second-handed  before,  and  second-hand  cradles,  were  also 
objects  of  interest.  I  saw  three  purchasers  of  cradles  :■  they 
were  females,  and  about  sixty  years  old.  Each  one  took 
up  her  purchase,  and  made  off  with  it.  I  saw  no  young 
woman  buy  a  cradle.  That  struck  me  as  being  so  extraordi- 
nary, that  I  spoke  to  a  policeman  about  it.  All  he  said  was 
to  wink ;  which  appeared  to  be  so  sensible,  that  I  winked 
too  ;  and  there  the  matter  rests. 

Between  the  booths  and  the  arrival  of  the  tramway-cars 
the  customers  divided  their  attention.  The  city  terminus  of 
the  tramway  was  in  the  square.  It  had  been  running  about 
five  days,  and  it  was  the  first  street-car  performance  the 
Aberdeen  people  had  seen.  I  never  saw  a  people  so  thor- 
oughly engrossed  in  a  subject  as  they  were  in  this  tramway. 
The  arrival  of  a  car  was  a  signal  for  the  gathering  together 
of  everybody  in  easy  access  of  the  spot.  They  looked  upon 
its  painted  exterior  and  upholstered  seats  with  hungering 
eyes,  and  beheld  with  hushed  breath  the  changing  of  the 
horses ;  and  when  the  gong  sounded,  and  the  driver  gath- 
ered up  the  reins  for  the  start,  it  seemed  as  if  the  excited 
populace  would  just  sink  into  the  earth  in  an  excess  of 
delirious  amazement. 

The  boys  appeared  to  be  the  only  ones  to  retain  their 
presence  of  mind.  Those  of  them  who  could  not  raise 
mo"ney  enough  to  secure  a  ride  invested  what  they  did  have 
in  toy  torpedoes,  which  they  insinuated  on  the  rails ;  and, 
when  the  car  passed  over  them,  a  sharp  explosion  followed, 
causing  nervous  persons  to  lose  the  topic  of  their  attention 
and  to  leap  out  of  their  seats,  and  forcing  the  driver  into 
the  use  of  dreadful  language.  There  was  no  use  in  trying 
to  stop  the  boys.     The  police  found  themselves  helpless  to 


334  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

remedy  the  trouble  ;  and  the  drivers  did  not  dare  leave  their 
cars,  for  fear  they  would  move  off  without  them.  But  all 
new  operations  must  expect  to  contend  with  difficulties. 

They  were  prophesying  the  line  would  not  pay ;  but  I  did 
not  succeed  in  detecting  the  grounds  for  the  prediction. 

It  was  paying  well  enough  then.  Every  car  was  full, 
besides  having  a  large  surplus  in  the  shape  of  about  forty 
boys  nmning  after  or  along  with  it.  Any  one  who  could  get 
a  twopence  had  a  ride  at  once,  and  those  who  had  more 
money  rode  as  often  as  possible.  One  man  had  his  meals 
brought  to  him  in  the  car,  so  as  not  to  lose  his  seat.  He 
had  spent  all  his  loose  change  in  tickets,  and,  on  the  day  of 
my  arrival,  had  mortgaged  his  house  to  the  directors  of  the 
company,  and  was  going  to  take  it  out  in  rides.  It  isn't 
every  place  that  has  a  public-spirited  citizen  like  that. 

Next  to  riding  was  the  exquisite  pleasure  of  jumping  on 
and  off  the  cars  when  in  motion. 

I  don't  know  why  it  is,  but  there  is  born  in  every  human 
breast  a  burning  desire  to  jump  on  or  off  a  moving  object. 
The  railway-cars  in  our  country  offer  every  facility  for  the 
indulgence  of  the  desire ;  but  here  on  the  railways  there  is  no 
such  opportunity,  and  street-cars  are  the  only  means  people 
have  for  enjoying  this  godlike  luxury.  We  can  imagine, 
but  not  describe,  the  state  of  the  human  breast  in  Aberdeen 
before  the  advent  of  the  tramway.  That  it  was  almost  rent 
with  the  jumping-o(T  emotion  there  can  be  no  doubt. 

But  it  was  now  finding  free  and  untrammelled  expression. 
No  one  pretended  to  stop  the  car  when  he  wanted  to  get  off. 
He  would  scorn  to  be  thought  so  lacking  in  manliness.  He 
just  jumped  down  himself,  and  after  striking  on  the  back  of 
his  head,  and  splitting  his  coat  through  the  back,  rubbed 
himself,  and  limped  off. 

About  every  ten  minutes,  somebody  came  bounding  across 
the  pavement  in  front  of  the  hotel  from  one  of  those  cars. 
When  I  left  .\berdeen  there  was  scarcely  a  whole  man  in  the 


ENGLAND    FROM   A   BACK-WINDOW.  335 

place,  and  a  court-plaster  factory  in  the  neighborhood  was 
running  day  and  night. 

I  hesitated  some  few  minutes  before  making  this  state- 
ment, it  sounded  so  much  like  exaggeration  ;  but  truth  is 
mighty,  and  will  prevail ;  and,  if  people  do  not  beheve  it 
now,  they  will  finally  grow  into  it. 


336  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

ASTONISHING   FACTS  ABOUT  WAGES. 

ABERDEEN  is  largely  interested  in  fisheries,  —  a  fact 
that  is  impressed  upon  the  visitor  very  soon  after  his 
arrival.  But,  to  see  the  fisheries  in  their  full  extent,  he  must 
go  down  to  the  water.  In  the  season,  the  fish-neighborhood 
is  a  busy  and  loud-smelling  place.  I  take  great  interest  in 
such  matters.  We  always  are  the  most  concerned  about  that 
which  we  understand  the  least.  Besides,  I  like  to  see  fish 
caught  in  quantities,  —  a  pleasure  I  was  denied  when  I  was  a 
fisherman  ;  and,  again,  I  am  interested  in  knowing  how  enor- 
mous quantities  of  fish  are  handled  without  smothering  the 
neighbors.  \Mien  I  was  a  boy  I  was  passionately  fond  of 
fishing,  and  have  frequently  sat  for  hours  at  a  time  on  a  damp 
bank  waiting  for  a  bite.  About  sundown  I  could  be  seen 
approaching  home  with  a  very  depressed  and  sick-looking 
fish  on  the  end  of  two  )-ards  of  string. 

I  rarely  had  more  tlian  one  fish  ;  but  I  managed  to  become 
so  imbued  with  the  odor  of  that  single  fish  as  to  give  the 
impression  that  I  had  caught  a  ton  of  them.  My  parents 
could  never  look  upon  this  phenomenon  as  being  other  tlian 
a  malicious  deception  on  my  part ;  and  a  little  brother,  with 
a  better  nose  than  heart,  used  to  declare,  that,  if  he  had  to 
sleep  with  me,  he  would  run  away,  and  be  a  corsair. 

A  good  corsair  gets  about  ten  dollars  a  day  and  his  board, 
I  understand. 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  Zl7 

It  was  not  a  pleasant  undertaking,  working  my  way  down 
to  the  fish-district  of  Aberdeen.  The  street  along  the  river 
was  broken  in  pavement,  narrow  in  walk,  and  pretty  thickly 
populated  with  a  tarry-flavored  people.  On  getting  across 
the  stream  to  a  neck  of  land  where  the  fishermen  were  locat- 
ed, I  found  the  mud  about  three  inches  deep,  and  the  smell 
about  four  feet  square.  Various  sheds  and  pens  covered  the 
place,  with  here  and  there  an  opening  for  the  barrels  in 
which  the  fish  were  packed.  I  found  a  man  in  the  midst  of 
several  hundred  barrels,  busily  engaged  in  branding  them. 
Although  he  had  many  irons  in  the  fire,  yet  he  found  time  to 
converse  with  me. 

The  fish  which  Aberdeen  chiefly  deals  in  are  herrings. 
The  present  season's  catch  has  been  a  good  one ;  and  the 
brander  of  the  barrels  was,  in  consequence,  disposed  to  be 
friendly  and  sociable.  I  had  the  impression  that  the  boat- 
men were  doing  business  on  their  o\vn  account ;  but  it  appears 
that  several  men  own  and  equip  the  boats,  and  hire  the 
brawny,  tarry  individuals  to  play  on  the  credulity  of  the  .her- 
ring. When  brought  face  to  face  with  the  fresh  herring,  I 
was  very  much  surprised  to  find  that  he  differs  astonishingly 
from  the  boxed  herring.  I  can't  say  that  civilization  has 
done  much  for  herrings  or  mackerel  or  codfish.  It  has  pre- 
served their  good  qualities  at  the  sacrifice  of  their  personal 
appearance.  Anybody  who  has  looked  a  salt  mackerel  square 
in  the  eye  will  bear  me  out  in  this  view. 

The  brander  of  barrels  had  about  him  some  dozen  or  so 
of  women,  who  were  adding  brine  to  the  barrels.  The  in- 
spector had  just  been  there  examining,  and  put  his  mark  on 
the  barrels  of  fish.  He  had  found  every  barrel  to  be  in  good 
condition,  and  this  also  tended  to  lift  up  the  spirits  of  my 
friend.  He  had  thirty  boats  of  his  own  ;  and  the  most  of  them 
had  got  in  the  day  before,  and  unloaded  their  cargoes.  He 
took  me  to  a  large  pen,  where  twenty  women  were  opening 
the  fish,  taking  out  their  mainsprings,  and  preparing  them  for 


338  ENGLAND    FROM    A    HACK-WINDOW. 

the  brine.  The  fish  were  brought  to  them  in  large,  square 
baskets,  and,  after  being  attended  to,  were  thrown  into  a  box. 
Each  woman  stood  before  a  board,  and  held  in  her  right 
hand  a  knife  :  with  her  left  hand  she  picked  up  a  herring, 
inserted  the  point  of  the  knife  into  its  stomach,  drew  out 
something  which  she  flung  aside,  and  threw  the  fish  into  the 
box  before  her.  I  hardly  want  to  say  that  she  openetl  and 
disposed  of  a  fish  in  less  than  a  second,  and  to  say  that  there 
was  a  fish  in  the  air  all  the  while  would  be  a  gross  injustice 
to  her  acquirements.  There  was  an  unbroken  procession  of 
them,  leading  from  the  right  hand  to  the  box.  There  was  no 
slip  of  the  knife,  no  picking  up  a  fish  wrong  end  first,  no  in- 
terruption at  all.  I  was  charmed  beyond  expression,  and 
stood  rooted  to  the  spot,  drinking  in  the  wonderful  beauty 
of  the  scene,  and  holding  my  nose.  The  fish  I  used  to  carry 
home  on  the  end  of  two  yards  of  string  was  generally  about 
two  inches  and  a  half  long.  The  reflection  that  weighed 
heavily  upon  me  all  the  way  home  was  the  fact  that  that  fish 
had  to  be  cleaned  before  I  could  dispose  of  it,  and  that  I  had 
to  clean  it.  This  finally  inspired  me  with  a  dislike  to  my 
prey,  and  led  me  to  wonder  why  fish  were  provided  with 
insides  and  scales.  On  reaching  home,  and  disposing  of  a 
cold  supper,  I  hunted  up  a  clean  board,  got  the  largest  knife 
to  be  found  in  the  house,  and  began  the  task  in  the  kitchen 
l)y  the  light  of  a  kerosene-lamp.  First  I  went  to  work  at  the 
scales,  holding  on  to  the  tail  until  that  gave  out,  and  then 
catching  hold  of  the  body  until  the  tension  caused  the  fish  to 
burst  open  and  spill  over  me.  Sometimes  the  fish  would 
slip  into  the  sink,  but  more  frequently  on  to  the  floor.  .At 
the  expiration  of  a  cjuarter  of  an  hour  I  had  removed  some 
fifteen  scales,  ten  of  which  were  up  my  sleeve,  and  the  others 
on  my  nose,  being  transferred  from  my  hand  to  that  feature 
while  engaged  in  rubbing  my  eye,  which  invariably  itches  on 
such  an  occasion.  About  this  time  my  mother  would  make 
her  appearance,  and  just  in  time  to  see  the  kerosene-lamp 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW,  339 

narrowly  escape  going  over  on  the  floor.  With  the  help  of  a 
pair  of  tongs  I  was  induced  to  transfer  my  operations  to  the 
back-yard,  and  continue  them  in  the  starlight.  Here  I 
would  struggle  with  that  contrary  and  exasperating  fish  for  a 
full  hour,  at  the  end  of  which  time  I  had  screwed  off  its 
head  and  wrenched  away  its  tail,  and  made  its  body  look 
something  like  Lazarus'  shirt.  The  next  morning,  an  hour 
would  be  lost  in  prevailing  upon  the  hired  girl  to  smuggle 
my  fish  into  the  frying-pan ;  and  it  eventually  came  to  the 
table  an  inch  long,  and  looking  so  insignificant,  that  my 
father  quite  frequently  took  it  down  by  accident,  and  didn't 
find  out  the  error  until  the  spare  scales  got  in  his  windpipe, 
and  threatened  to  strangle  him. 

No  wonder  I  was  charmed  with  the  speed  with  which  these 
women  dressed  these  herrings  ;  although  it  made  me  sad  to 
feel  that  the  herrings  were  not  alive,  and  consequently  could 
not  realize  and  appreciate  the  artistic  way  in  which  they  were 
being  handled. 

They  received  twenty-five  cents  for  cleaning  and  packing 
away  a  cran  (barrel)  of  these  fish.  Each  cran  contains 
from  eight  hundred  to  twelve  hundred  fish,  according  to  their 
size ;  and,  when  I  tell  you  that  each  of  those  women  earned 
five  dollars  a  day,  you  can  form  an  idea  of  how  swiftly  they 
worked. 

If  I  could  be  sure  of  cleaning  as  many  fish  as  I  could  eat, 
and  do  nothing  else,  I  should  feel  satisfied. 

Have  you  made  a  note  of  these  wages  ?  I  have  occasion- 
ally spoken  to  these  people  of  our  hat-makers,  and  told  them 
that  there  are  men  in  Danbury  who  earned  ten  dollars  a  day, 
and  women  who  earned  four  dollars  a  day.  The  last  has 
surprised  them  more  than  the  first.  An  Aberdeen  merchant 
(a  draper)  thought  women  who  earned  such  wages  must  be 
of  great  value  to  his  business.  But  here  are  women  in  liis 
own  town  who  earn  more  money.  But  his  trade  has  not 
profited  in  proportion.     The  fish-cleaners  of  Aberdeen  dress 


340  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

in  the  coarse  garments  of  their  fellow-laborers  on  farms,  and 
appear  to  have  no  soul  above  their  employment,  and  chaffing 
the  great  hulks  of  fellows  who  go  down  to  the  sea  in  ships. 

If  four  dollars  a  day  earned  by  an  American  woman  is  so 
startling  a  statement  that  these  old-country  people  must  ask 
for  time  to  credit  it,  what  are  we  to  think  of  the  Aberdeen 
fish-cleaner's  wages? 

The  five  dollars  which  they  make  in  a  day  is  in  gold  ;  and, 
making  due  allowance  for  the  difference  in  the  cost  of  living 
in  the  two  countries,  it  would  be  fully  equal  to  double  that 
money  in  the  States.  If  any  one  knows  of  a  branch  of 
business  in  America  which  pays  the  female  operatives  ten 
dollars  a  day,  I  hope  he  will  not  neglect  to  speak  of  it. 

Speaking  of  the  difference  between  the  two  countries  in 
cost  of  living,  I  cannot  forbear  just  here  to  call  attention  to 
a  peculiar  feature.  The  cheapness  of  living  in  this  country 
depends  entirely  on  your  nationality.  One  day  last  summer 
I  was  talking  with  an  English  shoemaker  on  the  subject  of 
prices.  He  showed  me  his  goods,  and  expatiated  to  great 
length  on  their  superiority  to  American  goods,  and  their 
wonderful  cheapness  as  compared  with  trans-Atlantic  prices. 
When  I  told  him  that  I  paid  eight  dollars  for  the  making  of 
the  shoes  I  wore,  he  appeared  very  much  distressed.  He 
ditl  not  think  they  were  worth  more  than  three  dollars.  I 
pondered  over  this  matter  for  a  week,  and  then  gave  him 
my  measure  for  a  pair.  He  finished  them,  and  sent  in  the 
bill, — five  dollars  and  a  half,  —  which  would  go  just  as  far 
with  him  as  ten  dollars  would  with  a  piratical  American  shoe- 
maker. But  I  didn't  mind  the  price  much,  —  although  it 
nearly  knocked  me  over,  —  because  I  knew  they  would  we:ir 
me  several  years.  Two  months  later  I  was  obliged  to  have 
them  soled.  The  shoes  made  by  the  swindling  .American 
went  six  months  without  repairs. 

An  .Xmerican  lady  who  had  shocked  some  iMiglish  ladies 
by  the  extraordinary  statement  that  she  had  paiil  ten  dollars 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  34 1 

for  the  making  of  a  plain  silk  dress  at  home  was  subse- 
quently able  to  revive  them  somewhat  by  paying  an  English 
seamstress  six  dollars  in  gold  for  manufacturing  an  overskirt. 

These  and  a  few  other  incidents  which  have  come  under 
my  notice  lead  me  to  the  solemn  conclusion  that  it  is  a  glo- 
rious thing  to  be  an  American,  if  you  don't  look  too  much 
like  an  American  when  abroad. 

We  bade  good-by  to  the  Highland  region  at  Aberdeen. 
And  I  take  this  opportunity  to  mention  a  growing  evil.  I 
have  commented  upon  the  absence  of  forests  and  the  abun- 
dance of  heather  covering  the  mountain  and  hill  ranges.  A 
good  part  of  this  land,  apparently  going  to  waste,  was  once 
cultivated.  It  is  now  a  cover  for  game,  such  as  rabbits, 
hares,  partridges,  and  the  like ;  and  that  portion  of  it  not 
owned  by  noblemen  fond  of  sporting  is  owned  by  those 
gentry  who  are  not,  and  they  throw  it  open  to  the  public  at 
so  much  per  head  the  season.  Over  this  hunt  a  class  who 
have  no  land  of  their  own,  and  another  class,  also  game- 
landless,  but  who  do  not  hunt  for  the  pleasure  of  it,  but  for  its 
profit.  They  are  objects  of  dislike  to  the  residents.  They 
shoot  every  thing  they  come  to  and  can  hit,  and  sell  it. 
Hunting  has  thus  become  an  indiscriminate  slaughter  as  a 
sacrifice  to  Mammon ;  and  the  land-owners  find  the  business 
so  profitable,  that  they  devote  more  and  more  land  to  the 
purpose  every  year,  and  the  farms  are  becoming  less  and 
less  in  arrearage. 

You  would  hardly  believe  it,  but  the  enmity  which  once 
raged  so  strongly  between  the  Highland  and  Lowland  peo- 
ple is  still  cherished  by  many  of  the  former.  There  were 
people  about  sequestered  Tomintoul,  where  I  witnessed  the 
games,  who  have  a  strong  feeling  against  Lowland  people. 
When  a  Lowlander  is  about  they  hide  their  oatmeal-cake, 
and  are  unhappy. 

Dundee  is  somewhat  larger  than  Aberdeen,  but  is  not  so 
handsome.     But   it   has   many   fine   public   buildings.     Its 


342  ENGLAND    FROM    A    DACK-WINDOW, 

principal  manufacture  is  jute,  great  quantities  of  which  are 
sliipped  to  America :  in  fact,  Dundee  is  largely  indebted  to 
the  States  for  its  prosperity.  It  will  be  remembered,  that 
during  the  terrible  war  in  our  country,  when  the  horizon  was 
darkened  with  clouds  of  distress,  the  American  ladies  came 
nobly  forward,  and  wore  jute  almost  entirely  as  back  hair. 

There  is  an  opportunity  here  to  say  something  about 
Scotch  newspapers,  as  Dundee  presents  a  phenomenon  in 
this  business.  "  The  Dundee  Advertiser  "  is  a  daily  with  a 
weekly  edition.  It  also  i)ublishes  two  weekly  papers  of  a 
literary  turn.  One  of  these  has  a  circulation  of  sixty  thou- 
sand, and  the  other  of  a  hundred  and  twenty-five  thousand 
copies.  Frankness  compels  me  to  say  that  the  literary  paper 
published  by  "The  Advertiser,"  which  has  the  circulation  of 
a  hundred  and  twenty-five  thousand  ("The  People's  Jour- 
nal"), would  not  have  a  circulation  of  five  thousand  in  our 
country.  It  is  simply  a  four-page  paper,  and  has  only  one 
or  two  serials,  with  no  illustrations ;  but  it  has  got  a  hold  on 
the  people  of  Scotland,  and  its  enormous  circulation  is 
steadily  increasing.  Dundee  has  a  hundred  and  ten  thou- 
sand })opulation,  and  has  only  two  daily  papers.  Aberdeen 
has  a  population  of  nearly  a  hundred  thousand,  and  has 
only  one  daily  paper.  Places  in  Scotland  of  from  fifteen 
to  twenty  thousand  inhabitants  have  no  daily  papers. 

The  Scotch  papers  look  more  like  American  papers  than 
any  others  in  the  British  kingdom.  They  have  display  adver- 
tisements, and  will  not  turn  their  backs  on  head-lines.  Speak- 
ing of  our  late  war  and  Scotch  newspapers  reminds  me  of  an 
incident.  When  our  war  broke  out,  there  was  a  flourishiug 
daily  paper  in  Edinburgh.  Its  editor  was  a  strong  anti- 
slavery  man,  and  took  strong  grounds  in  fiivor  of  the  Union. 
He  used  his  pai)er  to  strengthen  the  North,  and  ditl  valiant 
battle  for  its  cause  ;  but  they  would  not  sustain  him.  All  the 
other  Edinburgh  papers  predicleil  the  success  of  the  South, 
and  were  backed  up  by  liberal  patronage.      Our  friend's 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW,  343 

paper  lost  ground  every  day.  Subscribers  deserted  him, 
and  advertisers  withdrew  their  favors.  Finally  it  became 
apparent  that  the  North  would  win,  and  the  other  Edinburgh 
papers  trimmed  their  sails  accordingly.  "  Now,"  thought 
our  friend,  "  the  people  will  see  and  applaud  my  foresight." 
But  they  did  not.  A  man  who  predicts  contrary  to  the 
masses  should  take  care  that  his  prognostications  are  not 
verified.  The  masses  don't  like  to  be  mistaken  :  it  is  a  sort 
of  reflection  upon  their  well-known  wisdom.  Our  friend 
was  obliged  to  give  up  his  business  :  it  was  closed  under  the 
hammer,  and  he  is  now  engaged  in  another  business. 

I  saw  an  Englishman  the  other  day  who  is  now  a  clerk. 
He  had  a  good  lumber-business  when  the  war  of  the  Rebel- 
lion broke  out ;  but  he  took  the  side  of  the  North,  and  it 
was  his  ruin. 

This  is  a  solemn  warning  to  us  all. 


344  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 


CHAPTER    XLI. 

A   SAMPLE   OF    THE   GOOD   OLD   TIMES. 

WE  reached  Stirling  on  a  Saturday  evening.  It  had 
been  the  market-day :  and  although  the  business 
which  had  called  the  masses  together  was  transacted,  still 
the  people  lingered  ;  and  the  narrow  main  street  was  crowded 
from  the  centre  of  the  pavement  to  the  buildings,  with  here 
and  there  an  inebriated  but  not  ill-natured  soldier  to  en- 
liven the  scene.  The  markets  and  fruit-stalls,  and  bars  and 
cigar-shops,  were  in  a  blaze  of  light.  This  was  Baker  Street. 
It  ran  up  the  hill  to  the  castle.  Its  buildings  were  narrow, 
three  and  four  stories  high  ;  and  some  of  them  were  in  need 
of  repairs  two  hundred  years  ago. 

In  the  matter  of  historical  interest  I  will  back  Stiriing 
against  any  place  of  its  size  in  the  United  Kingdom.  It 
was  once  the  court  of  Scotland,  and  once  witnessed  tlie  con- 
summation of  the  most  awful  revenge  on  record. 

Four  hundred  and  sixty  odd  years  ago  a  king  of  Scotland 
had  two  sons,  and  both  of  the  boys  had  an  uncle.  In  those 
degenerate  times,  nothing  corrui)ted  a  man  so  much  as  l>cing 
an  uncle.  But  that  was  many  years  ago,  and  now  an  uncle 
is  considered  to  be  about  as  respectable  as  anybody.  As 
a  matter  of  course,  this  uncle  aspired  to  his  brother's  throne  ; 
and  to  do  this,  without  connnitting  himself,  he  murderetl  the 
oldest  son,  and  caused  the  second  to  be  captured  and  im- 
prisoned by  the  King  of  England.     Scotland  was  not  then 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    HACK-WINnOW.  345 

Strong  enough  to  make  England  give  up  its  prey,  and  no 
attempt  was  made  to  recover  the  young  prince.  The  old 
gentleman  died  of  a  broken  heart.  The  uncle  took  posses- 
sion of  the  government.  He  was  the  Duke  of  Albany,  and 
a  healthy  mess  he  made  of  affairs  during  his  regency.  The 
more  powerful  noblemen  oppressed  and  robbed  the  middle 
classes ;  and  the  duke,  who  dared  not  oppose  them,  for  fear 
of  losing  his  regency,  grinned  and  submitted.  He  couldn't 
curb  them :  he  wasn't  their  uncle.  The  King  of  England 
gave  the  Scotch  prince  a  good  education,  and  plenty  of 
pocket-money ;  and  the  young  man  studied  hard.  He  was 
a  fine  young  fellow ;  but  he  would  write  poetry.  He  allowed 
his  hair  to  grow  down  his  back,  omitted  to  clean  his  nails, 
and  stole  all  the  candles  he  could  lay  his  hands  on  to  write 
poetry  by.  Every  issue  of  "The  Literary  Repository"  con- 
tained from  twelve  to  twenty-seven  verses  from  his  prolific 
pen.  In  the  few  years  he  was  at  Windsor  he  furnished  for 
publication  no  less  than  two  hundred  "  Odes  to  Spring,"  with 
a  large  assortment  of  "Lines  to  J."  This  letter  stood  for 
Jane,  the  name  of  a  lady  of  the  Rufort  family,  —  a  very 
,  beautiful  girl,  \vith  whom  he  sensibly  fell  in  love.  There  is 
no  record  of  the  amount  of  his  other  work.  One  of  his  best 
pieces  was  "  Christ's  Kirk  on  the  Green."  He  was  also  the 
author  of  "  WiUie,  we  have  missed  You,"  "Beautiful  Snow," 
and  "  Over  the  Hill  to  the  Poor-House." 

He  married  Jane.  This  event  had  such  a  marked  influ- 
ence upon  his  poetry,  that,  as  a  matter  of  self-defence,  the 
publishers  of  the  several  literary  weeklies  met  at  Exeter  Hall, 
and  drew  up  a  petition  to  the  king  to  send  the  young  man 
back  to  Scotland.  His  uncle  was  dead,  and  was  succeeded 
by  his  cousin.  The  cousin  was  displaced  by  the  English  ;  and 
young  James,  with  his  English  bride,  assumed  the  reins  of 
government.  He  had  been  with  the  English  nineteen  years  ; 
and  the  bill  they  brought  in  for  his  board,  lodging,  lights,  and 
clothing,  was  two  million  dollars.  So,  after  all,  living  was 
not  much  cheaper  in  England  then  than  it  is  now. 


346  ENGL  AX  n    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW, 

He  found  Scotland  in  the  hands  of  the  oppressive  and 
murderous  barons,  and  the  Highlands  swarming  with  brig- 
ands of  various  tyjjes.  Business  was  unsettled,  and  farms 
were  lying  waste.  The  young  man,  having  seen  in  some 
American  newspaper  (where  it  occasionally  appears  to  this 
day)  the  statement  that  the  "  pen  is  mightier  than  the  sword," 
carefully  veiled  his  intentions  from  his  noblemen.  He  issued 
a  proclamation,  calling  a  parliament  at  Perth  (a  nice  sand- 
wich can  be  bought  for  a  twopence  at  the  railway  restaurant 
in  Perth),  in  which  the  powerful  rascals  assembled.  He  let 
them  vent  their  oratory,  and  appropriate  the  government 
stationery  for  a  whole  week ;  then  he  marched  a  body  of 
armed  men  upon  them,  and  made  twenty-six  of  the  most 
powerful  and  unprincipled  of  them  his  prisoners. 

Among  the  prisoners  was  the  Duke  of  Albany,  son  of  the 
crafty  uncle,  his  two  sons,  and  his  father-in-law,  the  Earl  of 
Lennox.  Against  this  family  the  king  had  a  long  and  bitter 
account  to  settle  ;  and  he  settled  it.  Near  Castle  Hill,  and 
within  ten  minutes'  walk  of  my  hotel,  is  a  crag  called  Head- 
ing Hill.  There  he  settled  the  account,  and  took  a  receipt 
in  full  from  the  blood  of  the  four  men.  Some  people  think 
he  had  no  right  to  kill  these  men  ;  but  they  seem  to  forget 
that  he  was  a  poet,  and  a  poet's  license  covers  about  every 
thing. 

Well,  he  put  down  disorder,  and  hung  or  beheaded  the 
disorderly ;  and  he  ver}-  soon  had  a  country  wortli  li\ing  in. 
Business  revived,  fields  blossomed,  and  tourists  returned  ;  but 
the  family  of  Albany  nursed  their  wrongs. 

Tiiirteen  years  later  he  came  to  Perth  again,  he  and  his 
family,  to  spend  Christmas.  The  festivities  were  over.  He 
stood  before  a  fire  in  his  dressing-gown  and  slipj)ers,  com- 
menting, with  his  wife  and  her  lady-friends,  on  the  enjoy- 
ment of  the  day  and  e\ening.  Sudtlenly  a  body  of  armed 
men  made  a  descent  on  the  place.  He  fled  into  a  vault  to 
save  himself  from  what  he  well  knew  to  expect ;  but  he  wa:j 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  347 

cornered,  and  in  a  few  minutes  stabbed  almost  beyond  rec- 
ognition. 

Two  noblemen  (brothers)  named  Hall,  and  a  nobleman 
named  Graham,  were  the  assassins.  Within  two  months  they 
were  apprehended ;  and  the  wife  of  the  murdered  king, 
transformed  into  a  demon  by  her  loss,  took  her  revenge. 
The  Halls  were  taken  to  Edinburgh,  stripped  naked,  tied  to 
crosses  which  were  set  up  in  carts,  and  driven  through  the 
streets  to  the  place  of  execution.  The  executioner  stood 
behind  them,  and  picked  off  bits  of  their  flesh  with  pincers, 
until  the  blood  ran  in  unbroken  rivulets  down  their  legs.  At 
the  scaffold  their  heads  were  hewed  off  with  a  dull  axe. 

Wasn't  that  awful  ?  But,  brutal  as  it  was,  it  was  a  prome- 
nade-concert alongside  of  the  agony  dealt  out  to  Graham, 
the  man  who  first  plunged  his  sword  into  the  body  of  James. 
He  was  tortured  here  in  this  quaint,  quiet  city.  Here  are 
two  boys,  at  this  very  moment,  fighting  for  the  possession  of 
the  stump  of  a  cigar  in  the  middle  of  the  very  street  where 
he  endured  the  great  suffering.  There  are  gay  shouts  and 
light  laughter  floating  down  this  avenue  every  day ;  but  it 
must  have  seemed,  to  the  people  who  cowered  before  that 
spectacle  four  hundred  years  ago,  that  never  again  would 
the  voice  of  pleasure  sound  between  its  walls. 

They  put  him  in  a  cart,  and  fastened  him  to  a  post,  with 
the  fatal  sword  driven  through  his  right  hand.  He  was 
entirely  naked.  The  cart  moved  up  this  street ;  and,  during 
the  frightful  march,  two  hangmen,  with  red-hot  pincers, 
griped  his  flesh  from  the  crown  of  his  head  to  the  sole  of  his 
feet,  until  he  presented  a  gory  mass  of  pulp,  with  his  blood 
covering  the  cart,  and  dripping  through  the  crevices  to  the 
pavement  for  the  dogs  to  lap  up.  With  the  circuit  once 
made,  the  false  arm  was  hacked  off;  and  again  the  proces- 
sion resumed  its  march.  All  that  human  flesh  could  be 
made  to  suffer  he  had  undergone.  But  he  was  to  receive 
another  blow,  and  this  upon  his  heart.  At  the  scaffold,  his 
only  son  w3,s  disembowelled  alive  before  his  eyes. 


348  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

That  is  the  little  revenge  I  railed  your  attention  to  at  the 
opening  of  this  letter. 

Those  were  the  good  old  times,  you  know,  before  modern 
politics  had  corrupted  and  prostituted  people,  Eve'r}'body 
had  what  they  earned  then ;  and  people  were  not  carried 
away  by  vanity,  and  taken  into  captivity  by  frivolities. 

Stirling  Castle,  like  its  co-famous  Edinburgh  fellow,  is  at 
the  point  of  a  crag.  The  castle  is  fortified,  like  that  at 
Edinburgh  ;  has  its  moat,  portcullis,  &c. ;  and  consists  of  a 
number  of  buildings  of  various  styles  of  architecture. 

James  the  First  dwelt  here ;  and  they  show  the  window 
out  of  which  his  son,  James  the  Second,  threw  the  body  of 
one  of  the  Douglases  whom  he  slew  when  engaged  in  a 
heated  discussion.  They  were  a  wonderfully  sociable  people 
in  those  days. 

Castle  Rock  in  Stirling  has  been  made  more  of  in  the  way 
of  comfort  than  Castle  Rock  in  Edinburgh.  Its  front-side 
has  been  terraced  into  beautiful  walks  amply  shaded,  and  it 
is  a  favorite  resort  with  the  town-people  on  pleasant  Sundays. 
It  also  differs  from  its  Edinburgh  fellow  in  that  it  is  compara- 
tively isolated,  rising  out  of  a  plain,  and  conspicuous  for 
miles  around.  From  its  buildings  can  be  obtained  one  of 
the  finest  landscapes  I  ever  saw.  The  River  Forth  flows 
through  the  plain,  and  its  links  shimmer  up  in  the  rays  of  the 
sun  like  the  curling  of  an  enormous  snake.  For  miles  toward 
Edinburgh  the  view  is  unobstructed.  Meadows  and  grain- 
fields,  turnpikes,  forests,  villages,  and  castles,  dot  the  plain, 
with  here  and  there  moving  shadows  from  the  fleecy  clouds 
above.  In  point  of  location,  Stirling  is  to  be  envied.  That 
it  is  also  appreciated  is  evident  from  the  swarm  of  visitors 
which  comes  down  upon  it  every  season. 

One  of  those  double  churches  so  common  in  Scotland  is 
to  be  found  in  Stirling,  close  to  the  castle.  It  is  called  the 
High  Church,  and  is  about  four  hundred  years  old.  \\hen  I 
went  up  to  its  door,  I  found  the  old  lady  who  takes  care  of 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  349 

it  bowing  out  two  American  ladies.  They  wore  jockeys  on 
their  middle-aged  heads,  and  large  noses  on  their  hard-drawn 
faces.     They  were  probably  crusaders. 

I  shall  never  forget  the  smile  the  old  lady  fetched  me 
when  she  saw  me  bearing  down  upon  her.  It  gushed  over 
her  face,  and  fairly  lighted  up  her  hair.  But  it  made  me  sick. 
I  was  afraid  I  had  not  sufficient  money  about  me  to  satisfy 
her. 

She  showed  me  over  the  churches,  and  then  took  me  to  a 
quaint  old  building  across  the  way,  where  were  stored  relics 
of  the  dim  past.  The  building  is  a  hospital,  which  was 
endowed  by  an  old  buffer  named  Cowane  for  the  welfare 
of  decayed  merchants  :  not  when  they  are  too  much  de- 
cayed, however.  The  coat  of  arms  is  the  figure  4.  The 
guide-books  say  that  represents  that  Stirling  was  one  of  the 
four  royal  burghs ;  but  the  old  lady  communicated  to  me  in 
a  whisper  that  it  referred  to  the  fact  that  Mr.  Cowane  never 
sold  any  thing  at  a  less  profit  than  a  fourpence.  Although 
of  only  fifteen  thousand  population,  Stirling  has  four  of  these 
benevolences.  One  of  them  is  named  after  a  party  named 
Spittal,  who  distinguished  himself  several  centuries  ago  in 
the  manufacture  of  breeches.  A  tablet  commemorating  his 
benevolence  closes  in  this  concise  manner :  "  Forget  not, 
reader,  that  the  scissors  of  this  man  do  more  honor  to 
human  nature  than  the  swords  of  conquerors."  I  am  sorry, 
now,  that  I  left  my  scissors  at  home. 

In  addition  to  the  old  graveyard  is  a  fine  cemetery,  with 
walks,  grottos,  lookout,  and  a  drinking-fountain.  It  has  the 
tombs  of  several  martyrs.  The  most  conspicuous  monument, 
and  really  a  beautiful  piece  of  sculpture,  is  to  the  "  Virgin 
Martyrs."  The  inscription  reads,  "  Margaret,  virgin  martyr 
of  the  ocean-wave,  with  her  like-minded  sister  Agnes." 

In  May,  1685,  Margaret  Wilson,  aged  eighteen  years, 
Agnes  her  sister,  aged  fourteen  years  (daughters  of  a  small 
farmer),  and  Margaret  MacLachlan,  an  old  woman,  were  lied 


350  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

to  stakes  at  low  water  in  the  Bay  of  Wigton,  with  a  view 
to  drowning  them  for  holding  to  the  opinions  of  the  Cove- 
nanters. 

Owing  to  the  extreme  youthfulness  of  Agnes,  and  one 
hundred  pounds  which  her  agonized  father  scraped  together, 
the  hearts  of  the  saints  who  were  engaged  in  the  murder 
were  touched,  and  she  was  released.  The  two  Margarets 
were  drowned,  crying  out  to  a  pitying  Jesus  to  have  mercy 
upon  them. 

Those  good  old  times  are  gone  by  now.  There  is  no 
assembling  in  caves  and  damp  forests  to  ser\'e  God.  Peace, 
security,  and  prosperity  cover  the  land.  Everybody  worships 
his  Maker  according  to  the  dictates  of  his  own  conscience ; 
and  every  town  has  an  abundance  of  schools,  and  one  or  two 
cannon  from  Sebastopol. 

On  the  wall  of  the  old  church  is  a  list  of  the  rates  for 
interment ;  and  I  herewith  reproduce  a  few  of  them  :  — 

For  a  hearse  with  four  horses  (including  gra%-e-digging),  $7.50 
For  a  hearse  with  two  horses  (including  grave-digging),  4,50 
On  shoulders  (including  grave-digging)  ....     6.52 

On  spokes  (under  twelve  years) 1.25 

On  spokes  (above) 2.00 

Child  in  arms 1.25 

Ushers,  each 25 

Bag  for  bone 25 

In  Stirling  are  the  traces  of  the  walls  of  what  is  called 
Cambuskenneth  Abbey.  There  are  the  tower  and  the  lines  of 
the  foundations.  It  must  have  been  an  extensive  building, 
or  rather  collection  of  buildings.  The  abbey  was  built  some 
seven  hundred  years  ago.  If  I  remember  correctly,  there 
are  three  floors  to  the  tower.  Each  one  of  them  contains 
relics  of  mouldings,  cornices,  pedestals,  &c.,  gathered  from 
the  ruins,  and  preser\'ed,  because  it  doesn't  cost  any  thing 
to  do  it.  A  woman  with  about  twenty-seven  children,  living 
in  a  long,  low  cottage  near  by,  has  charge  of  the  place.     She 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  35  I 

had  just  finished  showing  a  party  of  Americans  over  the 
tower,  and,  having  to  attend  to  household  duties,  left  me  in 
charge  of  one  of  the  boys. 

The  ground-floor  of  the  tower  was  very  well  filled  with 
these  bits  of  ornamental  stonework  ;  and,  besides  these,  there 
was  an  upturned  dry-goods-box,  on  which  were  arranged 
several  bottles  of  soda-water,  lemonade,  and  ginger-beer. 
The  boy  shouldered  the  entire  responsibility  of  these  wares, 
lightening  and  cheering  the  hours  of  toil  by  knocking  a  bit 
of  stone  with  a  hammer. 

On  the  third  floor  was  a  canoe,  —  a  canoe  about  fifteen 
feet  long.  It  was  cut  from  a  solid  log.  A  few  months  ago 
it  was  taken  from  the  river-bottom  near  the  abbey,  and  now 
looked  very  much  decayed  and  crestfallen.  It  is  safe  to  say 
that  that  canoe  was  built  before  the  age  of  iron.  It  was 
constructed  with  stone  tools.  Coals  of  fire  were  put  on  the 
green  log,  and,  when  they  expired,  they  were  swept  off,  and 
the  charred  portion  was  chipped  out  with  stone-chisels  ;  and 
then  fresh  coals  were  added,  and  the  same  operation  gone 
over,  until  the  hollow  was  made,  and  the  outside  took  a  con- 
formable shape.  No  one  can  tell  the  days  that  were  devoted 
to  the  completion  of  this  task. 

Stirling  has  still  another  claim  on  the  attention  of  tourists. 
It  was  a  gathering-place  for  the  Romans  when  they  were 
here  sixteen  hundred  years  ago,  and  relics  of  their  occupa- 
tion still  remain.  Near  the  field  of  Bannockburn  is  a  remnant 
of  one  of  their  roads,  so  it  is  said  ;  but  Sam  Weller's  coveted 
eye-glasses  would  fail  to  discover  it.  However,  there  are  the 
complete  outlines  of  one  of  their  camps  at  Ardoch,  a  few 
miles  above  Stirling.  I  went  over  there  one  afternoon  and 
took  a  good  look  at  it.  The  outer  embankments,  with  exte- 
rior ditches,  are  singularly  perfect,  considering  the  centuries 
of  weather  they  have  endured.  Banks,  ditches,  and  plazas 
are  covered  with  grass,  and  furnish  pasturage  to  some  fifty 
cows. 


352  F.NGLAXn    FROM    A    BACK-WIXDOW. 

I  learned  that  a  clergyman  some  two  miles  ofT  took  con- 
siderable interest  in  these  matters,  and  I  footed  it  over  to  his 
house  to  get  the  particulars  of  the  encampment.  When  I 
knocked  at  the  door,  a  sour-looking  woman  made  her  aj)- 
pearance,  holding  the  door :  so  it  would  have  been  utterly 
impossible  for  me  to  have  entered,  unless  I  had  been  shot  out 
of  a  columbiad. 

"Is  the  rector  at  home?"  I  inquired  with  a  hopeful 
smile. 

"Yes,"  short,  sharp,  and  decisive,  as  if  I  were  direcUy 
responsible  for  his  being  in. 

"  Can  I  see  him?  "  I  asked,  with  the  same  smile  cut  down 
fully  one-half. 

"  He  is  engaged." 

"  I  have  been  visiting  the  Roman  encampment ;  and, 
learning  that  he  was  in  possession  of  information  regarding 
it,  I  came  over  to  have  a  few  minutes'  conversation  with  him." 

This  was  a  frank  and  noble  exposition  of  my  errand,  and 
deserved  some  encouragement.  But  she  never  said  a  word  : 
she  merely  moved  the  door  six  inches  nearer  to.  I  felt  the 
smile  pining  away. 

"  Will  he  be  disengaged  soon?  "  I  gasped. 

"No." 

I  turned  to  go,  and  the  door  slammed  shut. 

The  Scotch  call  this  independence  ;  but  I  have  turned 
my  back  on  encampments  of  the  Roman  pattern. 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  353 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

THE  TERRORS   OF  A   JAUNTING-CAR. 

A  STEAMER  from  Greenock  in  Scotland  conveyed  me 
to  Belfast,  where  I  first  struck  Ireland.  Going  over 
there  showed  up  the  inconvenience  of  the  baggage-system 
here.  When  I  got  to  the  station  in  Glasgow,  the  porter 
asked  my  destination.  He  then  put  a  Belfast  label  on  the 
trunk,  and  shipped  it  by  first  train  to  Greenock ;  but  I  was 
not  going  until  a  later  (express)  train.  WTien  I  came  to 
start,  I  could  not  find  my  trunk.  I  had  my  ticket  and  a 
couple  of  sandi^viches,  but  no  trunk.  I  never  made  time  go 
so  far  as  I  did  the  next  five  minutes ;  but  the  only  comfort  I 
could  secure  was,  that  the  trunk  had  probably  gone  on  an 
earlier  train,  and  was  now  lying  in  the  station  at  Greenock, 
a  temptation  to  some  dishonest  man.  I  hurried  down  to 
Greenock  as  soon  as  the  train  would  permit,  and,  after  a 
search,  heard  of  a  strange  and  unclaimed  trunk  lying  on  the 
steamer's  pier.     That  was  my  trunk,  and  I  got  it. 

We  reached  Belfast  at  daylight  the  next  morning. 

We  got  into  a  'bus,  and  rolled  away  to  the  hotel.  It  was 
too  early  for  business,  and  we  passed  but  several  drays  and 
one  cart.  The  drays  set  low  down  between  the  wheels,  and 
the  cart  was  d^a^\^l  by  a  bald-headed  donkey.  There  were 
three  of  the  famous  jaunting-cars  at  the  pier ;  but  of  them 
anon.  After  breakfast  I  took  a  stroll.  It  was  about  half- 
past  seven ;    but  the  streets  were  quiet.     Wherever  I  met 


354  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

a  dray,  I  found  it  setting  down  between  tlie  wlicels  in  a 
very  despondent  sort  of  fashion  ;  and  every  cart  was  drawn 
by  a  bald-headed  donkey.  Belfiist  is  about  eight  hours'  sail 
from  Cirecnock,  and  several  boats  run  between  the  two  places. 
In  such  a  case  you  would  imagine  that  the  two  places  might 
amalgamate  their  peculiar  characteristics.  But  it  is  not  so. 
Belfast  is  just  as  different  from  Greenock  as  though  they 
were  twenty  thousand  miles  apart.  The  drays  are  different ; 
the  horses  are  different,  being  smaller. 

Greenock  has  hacks,  and  Belfast  deals  mostly  in  jaunting- 
cars. 

But  Belfast  is  a  wonderfully  busy  place.  It  is  the  head 
centre  of  linen  manufacture,  and  thousands  of  its  people  are 
employed  in  its  factories.  All  about  it  are  evidences  of  thrift ; 
and  in  the  outskirts  arc  pretty  drives,  fine  villas,  and  an  indus- 
trious and  well-to-do  farming-community.  The  agriculture 
of  Belfast  consists,  however,  of  grazing,  as  there  are  few 
roots  and  little  grain  raised.  Belfast  consumes  an  abundance 
of  milk.  In  fact,  all  through  Ireland  there  is  a  proneness  to 
run  to  grass.  It  requires  less  capital  than  other  farming,  and, 
for  that  reason,  is  the  general  choice. 

It  doesn't  seem  at  all  probable ;  but  these  people,  who  go 
to  make  up  Great  Britain,  even  vary  in  their  table.  The 
English  believe  in  stale,  solid  bread ;  the  Scotch  hang  their 
hopes  on  shortcake  ;  and  the  Irish  are  simply  content  with 
light,  white,  fresh  bread.  This  is  at  the  hotels  in  the  several 
countries.  At  the  breakfast  in  Belfast  I  was  genuinely 
shocked  to  see  a  plate  of  steaming  potatoes  coming  on  to 
the  table  in  their  jackets.  They  were  bursting  open  ;  and 
their  floury  contents  were  flaking  off,  and  rolling  outside 
their  l)rown  coats.  From  that  day  forth,  in  Ireland,  we  found 
l^otatoes  cooked  in  their  jackets,  —  the  only  human  way  of 
boiling  the  delicious  bivalves. 

Belfast  is  not  only  a  prosperous  city,  but  is  going  to  be  a 
handsome  city.     Its  villas  are  numerous,  mc  architecturally 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 


355 


handsome,  and  are  surrounded  by  tasteful  grounds.  It  has 
several  fine  churches,  the  spire  to  the  Congregational  church 
being  the  most  graceful  and  ornamental  work  of  the  kind  in 
the  kingdom.  Both  the  Methodists  and  Presbyterians  have 
enormous  colleges,  built  of  bright-red  brick,  with  imposing 
fronts  and  ample  grounds.  In  the  promotion  of  education, 
the  development  of  industry,  and  the  conservatism  of  pleas- 
ure, Belfast  is  an  enviable  city. 

It  can  be  said  of  Belfast,  what  cannot  be  claimed  for  any 
other  city  in  Ireland,  except  its  neighbor  Londonderry,  it 
is  growing. 

Here  are  the  changes  in  the  past  thirty  years  of  places 
with  not  less  than  fifteen  thousand  population  in  1 84 1  :  — 


1841. 

1851. 

1861. 

1871. 

Belfast 

76,441 

100,945 

121,602 

174,394 

Cork    . 

82,748 

87,758 

80,121 

78,642 

Dublin 

.     .     . 

254,808 

246,326 

Galway 

17,638 

24,192 

16,967 

13,184 

Kilkenny     . 

19,337 

12,710 

Limerick 

49,205 

53,782 

44,476 

39,353 

Londonderry 

15,196 

25,242 

Drogheda    . 
Waterford  . 

16,324 
23,506 

13,510 
23,349 

Londonderry  has  increased  two-thirds  in  the  past  thirty 
years ;  and  in  the  same  time  Belfast  has  more  than  doubled 
its  population,  with  a  young  city  as  a  surplus.  Both  places 
are  in  the  north  of  Ireland. 

I  took  considerable  notice  of  the  jaunting-cars.  I  found 
them  on  every  street,  on  the  corners,  and  in  front  of  the 
hotels  ;  I  also  saw  them  in  motion,  going  by  at  a  lively  pace, 
and  tearing  around  the  comers  with  the  greatest  ease.  The 
more  I  looked  at  them,  the  more  anxious  I  became  to  get 
on  one.  I  am  not  content  to  stand  off  and  admire  an  ob-. 
ject :  I  must  get  up  to  it,  and  go  to  fooling  around  it. 

A  jaunting-car  sets  well  up  on  two  wheels.     It  has  a  seat 


356  ENGLAND    FKOM    A    BACK-WINDOW, 

at  each  side,  operated  by  hinges,  so  as  to  drop  down  for  use, 
or  close  up  v/hen  not  needed,  like  the  folding-steps  to  a  stage- 
coach. Both  seats  drop  over  the  wheels.  This  is  an  excel- 
lent idea,  as  in  the  case  of  a  coUision  with  another  team,  or 
running  too  close  to  a  post,  the  wheel  of  the  vehicle  is  pro- 
tected from  injury,  and  only  the  passenger's  legs  are  broken. 

Each  car  accommodates  four  passengers,  sitting  back  to 
back ;  and  the  platform  between  their  backs  is  used  for  any 
little  luggage  they  may  have.  At  the  front  the  driver  has  a 
seat  for  himself  when  full ;  but,  on  other  occasions,  he  sits  on 
one  of  the  side-seats. 

I  loitered  about  one  of  these  vehicles  for  a  half-hour, 
and  then,  plucking  up  sufficient  courage,  got  on  board  for  a 
ride.  The  driver  asked  me  where  I  wanted  to  go  ;  but  I  had 
no  choice.  In  fact,  the  seat  tipped  down  so  far  when  I  got 
on  it,  and  I  appeared  to  be  in  such  imminent  danger  of  slid- 
ing off  on  my  face,  that  it  did  not  seem  right,  in  the  pres- 
ence of  the  danger,  to  be  dictatorial :  so  he  went  where  he 
wanted  to.  We  flew  through  street  after  street,  and  I  never 
before  was  so  shaken  up.  We  dashed  by  teams  in  such 
close  proximity  to  them,  that  I  felt  my  breath  leaving  me, 
and  went  around  corners  with  such  swiftness  as  to  cause 
my  knees  to  involuntarily  fly  up  to  my  shoulders. 

Pretty  soon  we  got  into  the  country,  and  he  began  to 
converse  about  the  objects  we  passed.  But  I  am  tired  of 
scenery,  I  have  seen  so  much  of  it ;  and  so,  while  he 
talked,  I  dug  my  toes  into  the  foot-rest,  pulled  my  hat  over 
my  eyes  and  ears  to  keep  it  on  my  head,  clinched  my  teeth 
together,  and  clung  to  the  seat  with  all  the  desperation  of  a 
drowning  man  clutching  a  i)lank.  I  appeared  to  be  the 
most  seriously  affected  in  the  pit  of  my  stomach. 

He  seemed  to  be  pretty  well  posted  about  the  country,  anil 
the  circumstances  of  the  people  whose  places  we  passed.  I 
enjoyed  his  conversation  very  much,  and  felt  every  niouK-nt 
that  I  was  being  improved  mentally,  even  if  I  were  incur- 
ring irretrievable  injury  physically. 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    HACK-WINDOW.  35/ 

When  we  got  back  to  the  hotel,  and  I  had  got  down  and 
pried  my  jaws  apart,  I  made  my  first  remark.  I  said,  "  Here 
is  your  money,  you  infernal  scoundrel !  " 

Then  I  sent  out  and  bought  a  truss,  and  put  it  on ;  and  in 
a  few  days  I  could  get  around  quite  comfortably  with  the 
help  of  a  cane. 

The  handsomest  grocery  I  ever  saw,  or  ever  expect  to  see, 
is  in  Belfast.  I  have  never  mentioned  it,  but  it  is  a  fact,  that 
these  oppressed  and  down-trodden  British  people  do  have 
handsome  groceries.  The  finer  ones  are  called  Italian  ware- 
houses, from  the  fact  that  they  deal  in  macaroni,  fruits,  &c., 
from  that  sunny  clime. 

They  do  not  sell  flour,  or  salt  meats,  or  fish,  or  vegetables. 
Their  stores  are  high,  have  plate-glass  fronts,  and  are  very 
tastefully  dressed.  The  grocery  in  Belfast  is  owned  by  a 
Quaker  named  Foster  Green.  It  has  a  grand  front  on  two 
streets.  The  goods  are  arranged  with  the  best  effect.  The 
ornamental  wood-work  is  of  black  walnut  traced  with  gold. 
The  floor  would  answer  for  a  ball-room.  Innumerable  gas- 
jets  flood  the  place  with  light,  and  gorgeous  mirrors  double 
the  brilliancy. 

And  he  is  a  Quaker.     Just  think  of  it ! 

Sixty  clerks  are  employed  in  this  establishment,  mostly 
young  men,  and  neatly  dressed.  You  could  shake  hands 
with  any  one  of  them,  and  not  smell  for  two  hours  after  like 
a  mackerel.  He  boards  and  lodges  all  of  them.  Their 
dining-room  through  the  day  becomes  their  sitting-room  in 
the  evening.  And  he  not  only  gets  the  work  out  of  them 
for  his  money,  but  he  also  keeps  a  careful  eye  on  their  per- 
sonal interests.  Belfast  young  men  who  incline  to  a  mer- 
cantile life  have  a  proper  anxiety  to  get  in  his  employ. 

People  go  from  Belfast  to  visit  the  Giant's  Causeway.  It  is 
on  the  north  coast,  and  about  eight  miles  from  the  nearest 
railway-station,  which  is  Port  Rush  ;  and  Port  Rush  is  sonie 
sixty  miles  from  Belfast.     The  railway  nms  through  a  fine 


358  ENGLAND    FROM    A    RACK-WINDOW. 

grazing-country.  The  farmhouses  are  not  lofty  structures,  and 
hardly  compare  with  those  in  England  ;  but  they  are  gen- 
erally neat.  A  peculiarity  of  the  scenery  is  enormous  gate- 
posts. They  are  built  of  mason-work,  arc  from  two  to  three 
feet  in  diameter,  have  a  conical  top,  and  are  whitewashed. 
When  there  is  a  break  in  the  hedge  or  stone  wall  for  a  gate- 
way, two  of  the  posts  appear.  We  could  see  men  at  work 
digging  potatoes  or  peat,  and  also  women  in  the  fields. 
Farm-laborers  in  Ireland  get  from  teni)ence  to  one  shilling 
a  day,  and  their  meat  and  rent.  In  the  busy  time  of  harvest 
they  are  paid  higher  wages.  A  large  number  of  farm-laborers 
go  over  to  England  every  harvest,  as  they  can  get  so  much 
better  wages  there  as  to  pay  for  the  trip.  They  run  over 
from  Dublin  on  the  steamer.  They  occupy  the  forward-deck  ; 
and  each  one  carries  a  bundle  done  up  in  a  handkerchief, 
and  carried  by  a  stick  over  the  shoulder.  An  English  friend 
asked  me,  on  one  of  these  occasions,  if  I  ever  wondered  what 
were  the  contents  of  those  bundles.  He  said,  that,  in  years 
of  observation,  he  had  not  detected  one  of  the  bundles 
differing  so  much  as  the  sixteenth  of  an  inch  in  size  from 
its  fellows ;  and  he  had  never  seen  one  of  them  opened. 
'I'he  harvesters  have  plenty  of  whiskey  with  them,  which  they 
first  drink ;  then  they  dance  and  whoop ;  and,  after  that, 
they  lie  down  on  the  deck,  and  press  their  hands  across 
their  stomachs,  and  —  and  gape.  It  is  a  very  rough  sea 
between  Dublin  and  Holyhead. 

The  country  from  Belfast,  until  we  draw  near  to  Port  Rush, 
is  an  almost  unbroken  mass  of  verdure,  and  is  pleasantly 
diversified  with  hill,  valley,  and  plain.  I  had  heard  Ireland 
denominated  "the  gem  of  the  sea,"  and  I  began  to  think  it 
was  not  an  exaggeration. 

But  we  will  not  anticipate. 

The  next  morning  I  got  a  team,  and  rode  to  the  Giant's 
Causeway.  The  road  skirted  the  coast  for  a  greater  part  of 
the  way,  giving  us  a  grand  view  of  the  sea,  and  a  peep  at  the 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    RACK-WINDOW.  359 

grotesque  and  wonderful  formations  made  in  the  solid  rock  by 
the  dash  of  the  surf.  On  a  bold  headland  the  driver  pointed 
out  a  series  of  crumbling  walls  as  the  ruins  of  Dunluce  Castle. 
No  sane  man  in  this  age  would  think  of  making  his  residence 
on  that  cold  and  exposed  and  dreary  spot,  where,  whenever 
any  thing  rolled  out  of  the  window,  it  would  be  irretrieva- 
bly lost,  unless  he  very  much  despised  cats.  But  the  Dun- 
luces  lived  in  that  good  old  time  when  the  highest  aspiration 
of  people  was  to  make  cold  mutton  of  their  neighbors.  Had 
the  man  who  established  pistol-pockets  in  breeches  lived 
at  that  period,  he  could  have  bought  up  any  congressional 
district  in  America. 

Just  beyond  the  castle  we  verged  off  from  the  coast,  and 
pretty  soon  struck  into  a  straggling  village.  There  was 
nothing  particular  about  this  place,  except  that  in  front  of 
nearly  every  door  was  a  column  block  of  darkish  stone,  in 
octagonal,  hexagonal,  and  other  agonal  shapes.  The  driver 
mentioned  that  they  came  from  the  Giant's  Causeway. 

We  left  the  village,  and  ascended  a  road  with  a  high  bank, 
with  fields  on  one  side,  and  a  high  wall  with  a  forest  on  the 
other.  Trees  united  their  branches  over  our  heads,  making 
a  refreshing  shade.  The  driver  spoke  of  the  owner  of  the 
property  which  the  stone  wall  enclosed.  He  had  an  income 
of  three  hundred  thousand  dollars  a  year,  and  only  one  child 
to  leave  it  to.  He  had  a  deer-park,  and  acres  of  heather  full 
of  rabbits  (of  which  we  could  see  an  abundance) ,  and  beau- 
tiful groves,  and  fair  fields ;  but  he  was  not  satisfied,  and 
preferred  staying  in  London  for  four-fifths  of  his  time,  hang- 
ing around  the  Alhambra,  and  Spiers  and  Pond's,  I  suppose, 
although  the  driver  did  not  say  so. 

When  part  way  up  the  avenue,  and  I  was  about  to  call 
attention  to  the  quiet  beauty  of  the  scene,  a  man  with  one 
leg  suddenly  appeared  at  the  side  of  the  carriage,  and  said,  — 

"  Please,  sir,  help  a  poor  man  who  has  lost  his  limbs,  and 
can't  find  work  to  earn  his  bread." 


360  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

Then  he  said,  — 

"  Please,  sir,  help  a  poor  man  who  has  lost  his  limbs,  and 
can't  find  work  to  earn  his  bread." 

And  further  observed,  — 

"  Please,  sir,  help  a  poor  man  who  has  lost  his  limbs,  and 
can't  find  work  to  earn  his  bread," 

\\'e  didn't  give  him  any  money ;  but  we  looked  at  him 
with  tender  sympathy.  We  had  no  sooner  got  rid  of  hiua 
than  four  boys  appeared,  two  on  each  side  of  the  carriage. 
Each  had  a  package  of  views  in  his  hand,  and  guile  in  his 
eye.     They  all  said,  — 

"  Please  buy  twenty-five  views  of  the  Causeway  for  one 
shilling.  Only  one  shilling,  sir.  None  better,  sir.  Only  one 
shilling,  sir.  Twenty-five  for  a  shilling,  sir.  All  of  the 
Causeway,  sir." 

"That  will  do  now,"  said  Major  A.,  one  of  our  party. 
"  I  will  take  some  of  those  pictures :  that  is  what  I  came 
for.  I  don't  care  to  see  the  Causeway  :  I  only  came  to  get 
the  pictures.     Just  tell  me  now,  are  those  views  lithogrmis?  " 

"  Yes,  sir  !  "  shouted  the  boys  in  chorus. 

"  Ah,  now,  that  is  too  bad  !  "  said  the  major  with  considera- 
ble feeling.  "  I  wanted  angloprismatics.  I  shall  never  buy 
a  lithogrim  as  long  as  I  have  my  reason.  —  Go  on,  driver." 

And  the  carriage  rolled  on,  leaving  the  four  boys  staring 
distrustfully  at  each  other. 

I  shall  not  attempt  to  give  a  description  of  the  Giant's 
Causeway.  Both  you  and  I  have  seen  it  pictured  in  our  ge- 
ograjjhies  when  we  were  children,  and  have  read  everybody's 
sensations  and  views  of  it,  from  Jones  to  Jenkins. 

The  Causeway  itself  consists,  briefly  speaking,  of  column 
blocks  of  dusky  stone.  They  slope  away  into  the  sea  like  a 
bank  of  rock.  They  vary  in  diameter  from  five  to  fifteen 
inches,  and  vary  fully  as  much  in  sides,  although  the  greater 
number  are  either  five,  si.\,  or  seven  sided.  Put,  whalc\  cr 
the  number  of  sides  eaih  piece  may  contiiin,  they  are  all 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  361 

joined  together  with  a  nicety  of  joint  that  no  cabinet-maker 
can  hope  to  surpass.  The  surface  is  uneven,  and,  after  a  rain, 
rather  difficult  to  traverse,  unless  a  man  is  a  giant,  and  used 
to  it.  In  the  Causeway  the  columns  are,  of  course,  perpen- 
dicular ;  but  in  the  banks  they  are  both  perpendicular  and 
horizontal.  At  one  place  they  are  stacked  in  the  air,  like 
chimneys  ;  at  another  they  stand  in  the  steep  sides  of  the  cliff, 
like  the  reeds  to  an  organ.  Thus  we  have  the  Giant's  Cause- 
way, the  Giant's  Chimneys,  the  Giant's  Organ,  &c.  The  col- 
umns which  form  the  Causeway  are  in  sections,  varying  in 
length,  and  fitted  together  by  convex  and  concave  surfaces. 
On  the  outskirts  these  sections  are  easily  dislodged,  which 
accounts  for  the  pieces  in  front  of  the  houses  at  Bushmills. 

The  visitor  is  aware,  before  he  reaches  the  Causeway  and 
its  adjuncts,  that  they  consist  of  basaltic  rock,  and  that 
science  has  decided  that  they  were  formed  by  fusion  under 
heat,  and  cracked,  in  cooling,  into  the  singularly  regular 
shapes  we  see.  (I  sometimes  think  that  scientific  men  were 
formed  by  fusion  under  heat,  and  have  subsequently  cooled.) 
When  you  get  there,  you  find  that  there  are  people  about  you 
who  have  lived  in  the  neighborhood  all  their  days,  and  who 
are  as  confident  as  that  they  live  that  giants  really  built  this 
Causeway  from  Ireland  to  Scotland.  A  singular  formation 
is  visible  on  the  Island  of  Staffa,  on  the  Scotch  coasts,  where 
it  slopes  into  the  sea  toward  the  Irish  side.  How  far  either 
point  extends  under  the  water,  and  whether  they  really  meet, 
and  form  a  continuous  pathway  between  the  two  countries, 
under  the  sea,  no  one  knows.  No  one,  as  far  as  I  can  learn, 
has  cared  to  investigate  ;  although,  with  the  improved  diving 
apparatus  now  in  vogue,  it  could  be  easily  ascertained. 

Tradition  varies  as  to  the  cause  which  led  to  the  building 
of  this  footway  ;  but  it  unites  in  attributing  it  to  the  enterprise 
of  giants.  One  explanation  is  to  the  effect  that  it  was  built 
by  a  company  (limited?)  of  Irish  giantry,  that  a  famous 
Scotch  giant  might  come  over  and  prove  that  he  was  as  good 


362       ENGLAND  FROM  A  BACK-WIXDOW. 

a  man  as  he  claimed  to  be.  Of  course  he  was  whipped,  as 
all  the  courage  and  skill  was  then,  as  now,  strictly  confined 
to  Ireland.  Another  solution  is  in  the  shape  of  a  famous 
Irish  giant  falling  in,  love  with  the  daughter  of  a  Scotch  levi- 
athan, through  an  advertisement  which  she  inserted  in  "  The 
Waverley  Magazine  ;  "  and  this  roadway  was  built  to  bring  her 
over  to  the  Emerald  Isle.  Her  husband  thought  she  was 
motherless  ;  but,  on  discovering  that  she  was  not,  he  caused 
the  rocky  bed  to  sink  into  the  sea.  This  last  seems  so  sensi- 
ble and  human-like,  that  it  has  become  a  favorite  with  me ; 
and,  while  I  should  hesitate  to  throw  any  disrespect  upon 
science,  still  I  must  hold  to  this  tradition. 

And  now  to  explain  how  the  major  and  I  saw  the  sights. 
As  the  road  ascended  the  cliffs,  which  form  the  background 
to  the  sea,  at  this  point  we  saw  a  hotel  at  the  left,  and  a  half- 
dozen  men  standing  at  the  entrance  to  the  hotel-grounds, 
who,  the  driver  intimated,  were  guides. 

The  sight  made  me  shiver.  I  have  encountered  so  many 
of  these  dreadful  people,  that  I  have  come  to  have  an  uncon- 
trollable dislike  of  them.  It  is  immaterial  how  established  is 
their  fee,  or  if  they  are  not  to  be  feed  at  all :  they  are  simply 
leeches,  who  expect  two  dollars  for  ten  cents'  worth  of  infor- 
mation. Every  lineament  of  their  features,  every  \\Tinkle  in 
their  clothes,  every  hair  in  their  heads,  is  gasping  for  money. 
Travellers  are  their  legitimate  prey  ;  and,  while  they  would  not 
take  a  cent  from  a  neighbor  because  of  the  law,  both  con- 
science and  court  acquit  them  of  wrong  impulses  in  de])re- 
dations  on  unprotected  strangers  who  are  so  unfortunate  as 
to  be  natives  of  a  free  and  glorious  republic. 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  363 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

DOING  THE   CAUSEWAY,   AND   McDOOLEY. 

A  BELFAST  friend  warned  me  against  these  guides,  and 
assured  me  that  I  could  see  as  much,  and  to  better  ad- 
vantage, without  them ;  and  so  I  determined  to  eschew  their 
society.  But  when  one  of  them  bustled  up  to  the  carriage, 
and  fastened  his  cold  gray  eye  gravely  and  seriously  upon 
my  countenance,  I  felt  such  a  sensation  of  humiliation  and 
reproach,  that  it  seemed  as  if  I  could  never  wipe  out  with 
an  age  of  tears  the  wrong  I  had  done  him.  He  was  a 
small  man,  with  large  hands  and  feet ;  and  the  backs  of  his 
hands  and  his  face  were  mottled  with  bro\vn  spots.  His 
nose  turned  up  so  sharp  as  to  be  uncomfortable  to  look  at ; 
and  his  hair  was  cut  straight  around  his  head.  Solomon  in 
his  prime  was  a  decided  idiot  alongside  of  this  man. 

But  the  major  was  not  affected  as  I  was.  Years  of  sight- 
seeing and  connection  with  these  people  had  given  him  a 
heart  of  lignumvitse,  and  a  countenance  which  no  combina- 
tion of  circumstances  could  apparently  move.  Nature  had 
designed  him  for  a  traveller,  and  she  could  risk  her  reputa- 
tion on  him  at  any  time. 

The  guide  came  up  to  the  carriage  \vith  a  volume  in  his 
hand. 

"  Hello,  De  Aubrey  !  "  shouted  the  major  with  cordiality. 
"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  and  looking  so  well  too  !  "  And  then, 
not  noticing  the  look  of  surprise  on  the  man's  face,  but  glan- 


364  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

cing  down  at  his  book,  "  At  it  again,  I  see.  I  can  tell  you, 
my  boy,  study  is  a  good  thing ;  but  too  much  of  it  is  good 
for  nothing.  I  can  see  how  you  are  wearing  away  under  it. 
Now,  I  dare  say  you  are  forty  feet  in  the  most  abstruse  math- 
ematics this  very  moment." 

The  guide,  who  had  been  staring  from  the  major  to  me  in 
unconcealed  perplexity,  managed  to  gasp,  — 

"  You  are  under  a  mistake,  sir.  I  am  the  guide  to  the 
Causeway." 

"What's  that?"  said  the  major,  putting  up  his  eye-glass, 
and  staring  hard  at  the  guide.  "  Aren't  you  a  De  Aubrey  of 
the  De  Aubreys  at  Wexford?  " 

"  No,  sir.  My  name  is  McDooley,  an'  I'm  a  guide  here. 
This  book  "  — 

"  Exactly  !  "  said  the  major,  restoring  his  glass  in  some 
perplexity.  "  But  you  look  so  much  like  the  De  Aubreys  !  — 
the  same  bold  profile  and  towering  frame  ;  only  your  occiput 
is  different.  Your  occiput  is  more  like  —  like  the  Montmo- 
rencys',  I  think."  And  the  major  dropped  into  a  profound 
study  over  the  fatal  mistake  of  the  occiput ;  while  the  owner 
thereof  stood  a  moment,  trying  to  catch  my  eye,  and,  fail- 
ing, tendered  the  book  to  the  major,  and  began,  — 

"  I  would  like  to  call  your  attention,  sir,  to  the  recom- 
mendations in  this  book,  —  all  from  people  I  have  had  the 
honor  of  showing  over  the  wonders  of  the  coast." 

The  major  took  the  book,  turned  on  his  eye-glass  again, 
and,  commencing  on  the  first  page,  was  in  a  moment  lost  in 
a  penisal  of  its  exciting  contents.  For  full  ten  minutes  he 
continued  submerged  in  the  volume,  reading  page  after  page 
with  burning  interest,  while  the  guide  stood  on  the  ground 
and  fidgeted  about,  and  the  driver  turned  around  on  the  box, 
and  stared  at  the  unconscious  reader  with  all  his  might. 

At  the  end  of  the  ten  minutes  Mr.  McDooley  could  stand 
it  no  longer. 

"  Would  you,  sir,  allow  me  to  show  you  a  few  of  the  lead- 
ing recommends?"  he  finally  imjuired. 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    EACK-WINDOW.  365 

"  No,  thank  you,"  drawled  the  major  :  "  I  will  come  to 
them,  I  dare  say,  if  I  keep  on." 

"  I  know,  sir,"  persisted  the  guide  :  "  but  the  tide  is  com- 
ing in,  sir ;  and,  if  you  want  to  see  the  rocks  to  the  best 
advantage,  you  will  have  to  hurry,  sir." 

Upon  this  the  major  returned  the  book,  and  signified  his 
willingness  to  go  ahead,  on  condition  that  the  volume  should 
be  loaned  him  again.  He  said  he  didn't  favor  light  fictions ; 
but  he  was  forced  to  confess  that  he  had  got  deeply  inter- 
ested in  Mr.  McFugal's  work,  and  was  anxious  to  learn  how 
it  would  turn  out. 

At  this  Mr.  McDooley  scratched  his  head,  and  said,  "  Yes, 
sir ;  "  and  then  stared  at  the  driver,  as  if  he  thought  that 
worthy  had  purposely  brought  a  most  incomprehensible  fish 
into  his  net. 

The  carriage  drew  up  at  a  long,  low-browed,  white-washed 
building,  where  Mr.  McDooley  invited  us  to  alight,  and  see 
the  woman  who  kept  the  boats. 

I  may  as  well  mention  here,  that  it  is  customary  for  for- 
eigners to  take  a  boat,  and  view  the  Causeway  and  the  vari- 
ous formations  from  the  water.  But  I  noticed  that  the  Irish 
themselves,  visitors  to  the  place,  do  all  their  sight-seeing  on 
land.  The  two  caves  can  be  entered  only  from  the  water ; 
but,  beyond  being  holes  in  the  rocks,  they  are  not  remark- 
able. I  could  have  seen  all  I  did,  and  with  much  more  com- 
fort, from  the  land.  You  might  cut  this  out,  and  pin  it  in 
your  hat. 

The  mistress  who  occupied  the  house,  and  o\vned  the  boats, 
was  a  tall,  heavy,  big-jointed  matron.  She  wore  a  quilted 
skirt  with  no  dress,  and  was  bare-headed,  —  a  costume  com- 
mon in  this  section  among  the  lower  classes. 

She  had  a  room  at  one  end  of  her  house  for  a  display  of 
photographs,  and  spar,  and  bog-oak  ornaments  ;  and  another 
room  at  the  other  end  for  the  protection  of  a  pony  and  sev- 
eral hens.     There  was  no  fence  about  the  yard,  which  was 


366  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

littered  with  debris,  and  ragged  boys,  and  pipe-smoking  men. 
Mr.  McDoolcy  brought  her  out,  and  left  us  to  engage  the 
boat.  \\'e  had  to  go  a  few  steps  to  the  boat,  and,  after  see- 
ing the  caves  and  other  things,  were  to  be  left  on  the  Cause- 
way, about  a  mile  distant,  and  could  return  to  the  house  by 
a  car  which  she  would  despatch  for  us.  She  said  the  boat 
would  be  eight  shillings  (two  dollars). 

Alid  then  we  started. '  Some  forty  men  and  boys  trooped 
along  with  us,  either  just  a  little  ahead  or  a  little  behind  us. 
It  made  me  ner\'ous.  I  whispered  to  the  major,  "  We  shall 
have  to  fee  all  these  people."  And  he  whispered  back  en- 
couragingly, "  It  will  be  much  cheaper  to  shoot  them."  Then 
aloud  to  the  guide,  — 

"  What  the  deuse,  Mr.  Mc Foodie,  has  got  into  the  pojiu- 
lace?     Do  they  think  we  are  a  torchlight  procession?  " 

"  McDooley,  sir,  is  my  name,"  explained  the  guide.  "  The 
boys  are  just  going  to  the  break  of  the  hill  to  see  the  boat 
off,  sir." 

The  hotel  and  the  good  w^oman's  house  are  about  the  only 
buildings  at  the  Causeway.  One  would  think,  considering 
the  enormous  number  of  visitors,  that  a  village  would  spring 
up  there,  with  paved  streets,  and  stores  burning  two  dollars' 
worth  of  gas  every  night.  But  there  is  no  system,  no  organi- 
zation, about  the  place.  The  Irish  are  famous  for  a  number 
of  things,  but  not  for  successful  organization.  The  knoll 
we  went  over  was  covered  with  grass,  and  down  it,  to  the 
very  little  cove  where  the  boats  were,  it  was  lumpy  earth  and 
grass.  There  was  no  path  down  it,  no  artificial  aids  for  de- 
scending it ;  and  yet  thousands  of  peoi)le,  old  and  young,  men 
and  women,  the  strong  and  the  weak,  had  descended  it. 
Two  hundred  dollars  would  have  made  a  very  decent  path 
down  it.  Did  you  ever  hear  of  such  shiftlessness?  \\'e 
wormed  our  way  down  slowly  and  painfully,  slipjMng,  sliding, 
and  straining  ourselves,  and  covering  our  boots  and  clothes 
with  mud.      At  the  fool  we  had  to   leap  from  bowkler  to 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  36/ 

bowlder,  or  climb  over  the  large  ones,  to  reach  the  boat. 
Four  men  were  manning  it ;  and  it  took  the  four  of  them  to 
keep  it  still  while  we  sprang  from  the  rocks  into  it.  Nature 
has  not  been  improved  upon  nor  interfered  with  since  she 
took  the  job  in  hand.  There  was  not  the  slightest  vestige  of 
a  pier.  I  am  quite  sure  you  never  heard  of  such  shiftlesshess 
as  that. 

After  being  settled  in  the  boat  with  the  guide  and  the  four 
rowers,  we  pushed  out  through  an  opening  where  the  huge 
swells  of  the  sea  sought  to  capsize  us,  turned  sharp  to 
the  left,  and  followed  the  coast  in  a  direction  opposite  to 
the  Causeway.  Ten  minutes  of  rowing  brought  us  to  the 
first  cave,  whose  dark  abyss  we  stared  into,  and  then  moved 
away  to  the  other.  The  next  and  the  largest  cave  permitted 
the  boat  passing  in,  and  to  some  distance  from  the  mouth  ; 
but  as  the  breakers,  which  were  dashing  against  its  mouth, 
were  about  seven  hundred  feet  high,  I  concluded  not  to  run 
the  risk.  The  rowers  had,  without  doubt,  large  families 
depending  upon  them  for  support. 

The  guide  was  rather  anxious  for  us  to  make  an  excursion 
inside ;  which  the  major  seeing,  thoughtfully  suggested  that 
he  might  go  in,  and  we  would  wait  outside  with  the  boat. 
The  guide  tried  to  laugh  as  if  it  were  a  joke ;  but  it  was 
plain  to  be  seen  that  he  eyed  the  major  with  considerable 
uneasiness.  He  was  pretty  well  posted  in  the  geological 
terms  used  to  express  ideas  in  connection  with  the  formations 
of  this  neighborhood  ;  although  it  did  not  appear  at  all  prob- 
able that  he  understood  the  signification  of  one-sixteenth 
of  the  phrases  he  used.  The  major  was  quick  to  perceive 
this,  and  also  the  pride  the  guide  ffelt  in  airing  his  knowledge. 
As  we  moved  along  toward  the  Causeway,  the  guide  held 
forth  on  the  various  strata  of  rock,  and  composition  of  the 
same. 

He  said,  — 

"  We  have  also  a  layer  of  sulphur.     If  you  will  be  so  good 


368  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

as  to  look  at  the  base  of  the  rock  at  the  left  of  the  organ,  you 
will  perceive  a  thin  yellow  streak.  That  is  a  deposit  of  sul- 
I)hiir.  Many  opinions  have  been  expressed  by  the  scientific 
gentlemen  that  I've  taken  over  this  place ;  but  they  can't 
satisfactorily  account  for  its  origin.  But  it  is  there,  an'  that's 
plain  enough." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  that  is  a  layer  of  suli)hur?" 
suddenly  demanded  the  major. 

"  Why,  yes,  sir  !  "  gasped  the  guide. 

"  Sulphur  of  majitum,  or  the  carbonated  sulphur?  "  again 
demanded  the  major,  \vith  some  sternness'. 

"I  —  don't  —  know,"  said  the  guide,  with  evident  hesita- 
tion.    *'  Some  say  one,  and  some  say  the  other." 

"  Oh,  indeed  !     WeU,  Mr.  McFugle  "  — 

"  McDooley,"  mildly  suggested  the  guide. 

"  Ah,  yes  !     Well,  Mr.  Mcjooley  "  — 

The  guide  groaned. 

"  I  would  like  to  have  you  explain  how  either  the  sulphur 
of  majitum,  or  even  sulphur  in  the  form  of  carbon,  can  rest 
beneath  a  basaltic  formation." 

Mr.  McDooley  rubbed  his  head,  and  looked  around  un- 
easily. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say,"  continued  the  major,  •'  that  a 
fibrous  rock  can  contain,  for  even  a  year's  time,  a  molecular 
substance?" 

"  N  —  no  !  "  stammered  the  guide. 

"  Of  course  not ;  and  yet  you  present  that  absurd  jiropo- 
sition  to  me.  Now,  Mr.  McFoodle,  just  answer  me  one 
simple  question  :  What  is  the  percentage  of  animalcula  in  a 
resinous  rock,  when  amalgamated  under  a  temperature  of 
one  hundred  and  twelve  degrees  Farenheit?" 

"I  don't  —  don't  remember,"  stammeretl  tlie  unhai)py 
Mr.  McDooley. 

"Well,  Mr.  Mcjoogle,  let  me  give  you  a  bit  of  advice," 
said  the  major  with  some  asperity  :  "  ^^'hen  you  untlcrlakc 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  369 

to  escort  another  professor  of  psychology  over  the  coast, 
just  rub  up  your  knowledge  of  chronology,  and  don't  attempt 
to  impose  upon  him  the  absurd  ratiocinations  of  a  set  of 
addle-pated  lachr}'ma]arians."  And  the  major  wiped  his 
brow  with  his  handkerchief,  and  looked,  around  upon  the 
amazed  crew  with  offended  dignity;  while  the  unfortunate 
Mr.  McDooley  sank  back  abashed,  and  never  again  opened 
his  mouth  on  the  subject  of  geology  during  the  trip. 

We  had  seen  the  Giant's  Chapel  and  the  Giant's  Eye, 
when  the  boat  stopped.  One  of  the  men  passed  me  a  little 
shaky  box  of  spar,  and  another  passed  a  similar  one  to  the 
major.     It  was  done  with  an  air  suggestive  of — 

"  We  have  got  you  out  here  away  from  all  help,  and  }-ou 
either  buy  these  boxes,  or  go  to  the  bottom." 

In  some  alarm,  I  was  about  to  inquire  the  price  ;  when  the 
major,  after  a  glance  at  the  boxes,  and  then  at  the  guide, 
broke  in  with  — 

"  And  what  is  this  ?     Ballast  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  said  the  guide  humbly :  "  it  is  spar,  that  the 
men  wish  to  sell  you  for  you  to  take  home." 

"Well,  Mr.  McHooghly,  permit  me  to  explain  to  the 
crew,  through  you,  that  we  came  here  on  a  pleasure-trip, 
and  not  to  buy  up  paving-stones." 

The  boxes  were  taken  back,  and  the  boat  started  on,  land- 
ing us  in  a  few  minutes  on  the  Causeway,  and  so  adroitly, 
that  both  of  us  were  caught  on  the  legs  by  an  incoming 
wave. 

The  guide  whispered  to  me  that  the  boatmen  would 
expect  a  fee. 

"Wliatfor?"  I  asked.  "Doesn't  the  woman  who  owns 
the  boats  pay  them  ?  " 

"  No,  sir  :  they  depend  on  what  visitors  may  give  them." 

He  thought  a  sixpence  or  so  to  each  of  them  would  do. 
One  of  them  came  up  just  then,  and  the  major  handed  him 
three  shillings.  He  ducked  his  head,  and  asked  for  another 
shilling  to  make  even  money. 


370  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

"  Were  you  ever  a  corsair?  "  demanded  the  major. 

"  No,  sir,"  said  the  man,  looking  dubiously  at  him. 

"Well,"  said  the  major,  handing  him  another  shilling, 
"  the  next  vacancy  that  occurs,  I  will  recommend  you." 

We  had  hardly  got  on  the  Causeway  when  a  shadow  of  a 
boy  assailed  us  with  a  handful  of  photographs.  At  every 
turn  he  kept  close  to  us,  grinding  out  his  programme. 
Finally  the  major  turned  on  him. 

"  Look  here,  boy  :  here  is  a  half-crown  for  you.  And  now 
you  get  off  from  this  Causeway,  and  out  of  this  county,  as 
quick  as  you  can,  or  I'll  look  you  over ;  and,  if  I  find  a  piece 
of  flesh  on  you,  I  will  stick  a  knife  in  it." 

The  boy  clutched  the  money,  and  scampered  off. 

"  I  am  glad  he  is  gone,"  said  the  major  with  a  sigh,  "  or 
he'd  be  falling  into  some  of  these  crevices  and  losing  his 
life." 

We  made  a  careful  survey  of  the  surface  of  the  Causeway ; 
and  although  the  items  were  similar  in  feature,  yet  the  whole 
was  very  interesting.  There  was  the  Giant's  Well,  where  the 
removal  of  a  section  of  a  column  left  room  for  a  couple  of 
pailfuls  of  clear  cold  water ;  also  the  Wishing  Seat,  where 
several  pillars,  projecting  above  their  fellows,  made  a  rude 
attempt  at  a  chair.  The  guide  said,  if  we  sat  there  and  made 
a  wish,  it  would  be  fulfilled  inside  of  a  twelvemonth.  I  took 
his  advice,  and  wished  that  I  might  have  a  pair  of  side- 
whiskers.  The  major  gave  his  wish  aloud,  to  the  effect  that 
the  guide  might  give  his  time  to  the  intelligent  study  of 
geology ;  which  made  Mr.  McDooley  wince.  When  we  got 
down  from  the  seat,  we  found  two  dowagers  peddling  a  crab 
and  some  very  shrivelled  apples.  They  were  kind-hearted 
people.  One  of  them  was  smoking  a  pipe,  and  I  was  smok- 
ing a  cigar,  —  a  circumstance  that  made  a  most  favorable 
impression  upon  her. 

"  Arrah  !  "  shouted  she,  "  the  gintlemin  shmokin'  a  segare, 
an'  the  ole  woman  a  pipe  !  An'  that's  the  way  the  money 
goes." 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  37I 

"  Pop  goes  the  weasel,"  gravely  suggested  the  major. 

"  An'  you'se  a  foine  gintlemin  !  "  said  the  old  lady  admir- 
ingly. "  It's  the  likes  of  such  as  you  that  wouldn't  see  an' 
ole  woman  strugglin'  for  the  bread  that  kapes  her  body  an' 
soul  togither,  when  buyin'  a  nice  foine  apple  would  help 
her." 

"  Two  pritty  gintlemin  like  thim,"  added  the  other  dowa- 
ger with  considerable  feeling,  "  have  money  for  a  good  pur- 
pis.  Sure  a  foiner  crab  than  this,  man,"  holding  it  up  ten- 
derly by  its  left  leg,  "  niver  walked  the  say." 

"  And  the  chapeness  oov  it !  "  chimed  in  the  apple-mer- 
chant sympathetically.  "  Sure  nayther  oov  thim  gintlemin 
is  wantin'  in  knowledge  oov  a  good  article." 

"  Musha,  Mistress  Finn,"  said  her  companion,  who  ap- 
peared to  be  a  woman  of  considerable  penetration,  "  a  bat 
at  broad  noon  could  see  their  intelligence,  an'  how  they  are 
min  oov  the  world,  an'  scholars  oov  high  degree." 

The  major,  who  had  been  looking  gravely  at  both  of  them 
during  their  appreciative  observations,  now  spoke  :  — 

"  By  my  soul,  ladies,  but  you  quite  overcome  my  friend 
and  myself  by  the  ease  of  your  speech  :  and  as  for  the  fresh- 
ness and  vivacity  of  your  persons,  sure  the  wares  in  your 
basket  bear  eloquent  witness  ;  for  the  apples  have  shrivelled 
up  in  envy  of  your  cheeks,  and  the  crab  has  gone  madly 
bilious  over  your  suppleness.  And  I  can  say  in  full  confi- 
dence, that  it  is  not  an  Ulster  crab  that  is  easily  put  do\\Ti." 

This  beautiful  tribute  to  their  grace  of  speech  and  persons 
actually  doubled  up  the  dowagers  for  an  instant ;  and,  before 
they  could  rally,  the  major  tossed  each  of  them  a  sixpence, 
and,  catching  me  by  the  arm,  hurried  away  from  the  shower 
of  "  blissings  "  which  was  propelled  after  us. 

Leaving  the  Causeway,  we  came  upon  the  Wishing  Spring, 
where  an  able-bodied  man  mixed  its  magic  waters  with  liquid- 
hydrophobia  for  tired  and  unsuspecting  travellers. 

The  major  stopped  for  a  drink.     Being  an  Irishman  him- 


372  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

self,  he  said  it  would  not  look  well  for  him  to  turn  his  back 
on  poteen  in  any  shape, 

^\'hile  the  major  benumbed  himself  with  the  stuff,  the 
guide  took  me  a  short  distance  back  of  a  pile  of  rocks  and 
earth,  ostensibly  for  the  purpose  of  getting  a  close  look  at 
several  pillars  standing  in  the  bank,  whose  claimed  altitude 
I  had  disputed,  but  actually  to  sell  me  a  bit  of  mineral  which 
he  had  in  his  pocket.  He  said,  on  the  way,  that  any  amount 
of  samples  of  the  various  deposits  was  sold  in  the  neighbor- 
hood ;  but  he  did  not  care  to  do  any  such  business,  as  it 
was  foreign  to  his  tastes.  However,  he  had  with  him  a  \ery 
valuable  piece  of  mineral,  which  he  had  designed  saving  for 
his  own  gratification ;  but,  noticing  the  intense  interest  I 
took  in  the  various  strata  and  formations,  he  had  resolved, 
after  a  selfish  struggle,  to  part  with  it  to  me.  I  saw  that  he 
was  going  to  present  it  to  me  ;  but,  out  of  courtesy,  I  asked 
its  price.  He  said  he  thought  ten  shillings  would  not  be 
any  too  much  for  it.  I  almost  said,  "  Well,  I  hope  to  be 
hanged  !  "  but  checked  myself  in  time,  and  with  forced  com- 
posure assured  him  that  I  would  not  give  ten  cents  for  all 
the  minerals  he  could  hold  in  his  cheek.  I  was  much 
amused  by  his  reply  :  — 

"  Well,  sir,  I  couldn't  hold  many  there."  Then  he  tried 
to  sell  me  a  fossil ;  but  I  told  him  I  lived  in  a  New-England 
village.  He  made  one  more  effort  on  a  bit  of  polished  coal ; 
but,  the  major  coming  up,  he  dropped  the  subject  as  if  it 
had  been  a  bar  of  hot  iron.  We  took  the  car  from  the 
spring,  and  were  jolted  up  to  the  house,  and  there  settled 
the  bill.  When  he  asked  the  guide  what  his  charge  was,  he 
smiled  pleasantly,  and  said  it  was  from  two  shillings  and  six- 
pence to  five  shillings,  according  to  the  extent  of  the  trij) ; 
but  he  left  it  entirely  to  the  kindness  of  the  visitor.  They 
all  do  it,  I  am  sorry  to  say. 

When  we  left,  the  major  took  the  guide  to  one  side,  and 
confidentially  whispered  to  him,  — 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  373 

"When  you  see  the  owner  of  the  Causeway,  Mr.  Mc- 
Hooghley,  please  present  him  my  compHments,  and  tell  him, 
that,  in  my  estimation,  the  best  thing  he  can  do  with  the 
place  is  to  seed  it  down  with  square-ribbed  Timothy ;  and 
in  the  mean  time,  if  I  come  across  a  second-hand  pier  that 
can  be  bought  cheap,  I  will  immediately  write  and  let  him 
know.  Good-by,  my  malarious  kohinoor  !  Heaven  bless 
you  !  " 

And  with  that  we  rode  away,  the  major  smiling  sweetly 
upon  everybody  in  reach. 


374  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

GETITNG   ON  THE   WALL. 

FROM  Port  Rush  I  went  to  Enniskillen  by  way  of  Lon- 
donderry. I  stopped  at  Londonderry  two  or  three 
hours  to  see  the  old  city  wall.  If  I  am  not  disastrously  mis- 
taken, Londonderry  is  the  only  city  in  the  United  Kingdom 
boasting  a  complete  wall  about  it.  It  is  something  to  see  a 
walled  city.  Aside  from  the  wall,  I  do  not  know  as  there  is 
any  thing  of  particular  interest  in  Londonderry. 

I  will  tell  you  how  I  saw  the  wall.  I  left  the  station,  and 
passed  into  a  street  of  warehouses  and  dingy  stores,  with 
here  and  there  an  eating-saloon.  I  stopped  at  a  tobacco- 
store  for  some  cigars,  and  asked  the  proprietor  for  the  ad- 
dress of  the  wall.  He  told  me  to  keep  on  until  I  reached  a 
broad,  open  thoroughfare  :  I  would  find  the  wall  there.  I 
kept  on.  When  I  got  on  the  broad,  open  thoroughfare,  I 
saw  opposite  the  blank  side  of  a  wall  of  masonry.  Two 
arches  pierced  it,  showing  through  each  a  vista  of  street.  I 
knew  that  wasn't  the  wall,  because  it  disappeared  at  each 
end  in  among  buildings,  and  buildings  towered  above  it  on 
the  other  side  :  so  I  asked  a  policeman  who  stood  under 
one  of  the  arches  to  show  me  the  wall,  and  he  said  that  was 
the  wall.  .'\nd  then  the  following  conversation  occurred 
between  us : — 

"  Is  there  any  way  of  getting  up  on  it?  "  I  asked. 

"  Yes.     Are  you  a  stranger?  " 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  375 

"  I  am.     Is  anybody  allowed  up  on  the  wall  ?  " 

"You  are  not  Irish,  are  you?  " 

"  No,"  said  I. 

"English?" 

"  No.     How  do  you  get  up  on  the  wall  ?  " 

"  Do  you  come  from  America?  " 

"Yes.     How  do  you  get  up  on  the  wall?  " 

"  There  is  a  stairway  beyond.  What  part  of  America  do 
you  come  from?  " 

"  The  Rocky  Mountains.  Is  anybody  allowed  to  go  on 
the  wall?" 

"  Of  course.     How  long  have  you  been  over?  " 

"  Seven  years.  And  now  will  you  permit  me  to  ask  you  a 
question?  "  I  inquired  in  some  desperation. 

"  Of  course." 

"  Thank  you  !     Good-day  !  " 

"Goo  —  good-day  !  "  he  stammered  in  some  surprise. 

x'Vnd  thus  we  parted.  Shall  we  ever  meet  again  ?  How 
solemn  the  thought ! 

I  mounted  a  stairway  which  I  found  in  a  narrow  street 
running  from  the  arch  and  emptying  into  a  public-house, 
and  was  on  the  wall. 

I  do  not  know  the  exact  date  of  the  building  of  this  work  ; 
but  it  had  attained  a  fair  age  in  1688,  when  the  famous  siege 
occurred.  It  was  built  by  the  city  of  London  at  an  expense 
of  eleven  thousand  pounds.  The  wall  is  of  varying  width, 
and  consists  of  two  exteriors  of  stone,  filled  in  with  earth  and 
cobbles.  In  some  places  two  or  three  teams  could  drive 
abreast  on  it.  However,  they  don't.  But  it  is  used  as  a 
promenade  for  the  citizens.  On  the  outer  side  is  a  battle- 
mented  guard  of  stone  for  the  protection  of  troops  operating 
on  the  wall.  Houses  and  streets  are  built  up  against  it ; 
and  the  former  so  hide  it,  that  it  is  impossible  to  see  any 
considerable  portion  of  it,  even  when  on  it,  at  one  glance. 

There  are  guard-houses  and  bastions  still  remaining  on  it 


3/6  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

(the  latter  planted  with  flowers),  which  were  once  occupied 
by  desperate  and  starving  men,  sacrificing  for  a  principle, 
sufTering  for  their  religion. 

What  dreadfully  bitter  animosities  are  those  which  one 
Christian  will  entertain  to  another  !  What  an  awful  thing 
it  is  to  be  a  politician  for  Christ,  rather  than  a  lover  of  him  ! 

It  is  well  known,  perhaps,  to  my  readers,  that  the  north 
of  Ireland  was  the  scene,  some  two  hundred  years  ago,  of 
great  contention  between  the  Catholics  and  Protestants.  It 
was  about  this  time  that  the  Duke  of  York,  who  was  James 
the  Second,  abdicated  his  throne,  owing  to  the  threatening 
aspect  of  his  people,  in  favor  of  his  daughter  Mary,  the  wife 
of -William,  Prince  of  Orange,  who  was  of  the  same  national- 
ity as  the  Eleventh  Corps  in  the  Army  of  the  Potomac.  In 
1 688  William  and  Mary  landed  in  England,  and  were  pro- 
claimed king  and  queen.  Catholic  Ireland  favored  James, 
and  united  with  France  to  either  restore  him  to  the  ICnglish 
throne,  or  to  wrest  Ireland  from  England,  and  annex  it  to 
France.  That  little  affair  made  the  battle  of  the  Boync,  the 
struggle  at  Enniskillen,  and  the  heroic  defence  of  London- 
derry. The  city  was  built  and  walled  for  the  protection  of 
the  Protestants  in  the  neighborhood. 

A  splendid  Protestant  college  and  model  school  adorns 
Londonderry.  It  is  called  the  Magee  College,  in  honor  of 
the  endower,  Mrs.  Magee  of  Dublin. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  I  took  the  train  for  Enniskillen. 
Whatever  may  be  said  in  praise  of  the  green  fields,  beau- 
tiful lakes,  and  magnificent  mountain-scenerj',  of  Ireland, 
precious  little  can  be  written  in  compliment  of  the  railway 
management.  I  remember  waiting  once  two  whole  hours 
to  give  a  team  time  to  return  several  miles  after  an  inspector, 
whom  the  driver  had  neglected  to  bring  with  him.  One 
hundred  people  lost  that  two  hours  to  accommodate  one 
man  too  careless  to  attend  to  his  own  business.  When  the 
inspector  had  arrived,  and  was  seeing  to  some  parcels,  I 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  37/ 

managed  to  stumble  on  a  box,  and  fall  against  him  with  sufifi- 
cient  force  to  knock  him  over  a  trunk.  Several  bystanders 
remarked  upon  the  singularity  of  the  accident.  It  was  sin- 
gular. 

The  trains  run  in  five  hours  about  as  far  as  corresponding 
English  trains  do  in  three  hours. 

The  ride  to  Enniskillen,  sixty  miles,  was  devoid  of  inter- 
est. An  Irish  writer  says  the  hotels  of  his  country  have 
improved  seriously  in  the  past  ten  years.  "  Before  that 
time,"  he  goes  on  to  remark,  "  there  were  not  two  good 
hotels  in  the  whole  country."  And  so  they  have  improved 
in  the  last  decade  ?  I  hope  I  feel  sufficiently  grateful  for 
not  having  had  to  submit  to  the  hospitality  of  an  Irish  hos- 
tlery  previous  to  that  time. 

The  Enniskillen  hotel  set  a  good  table ;  that  is,  the  food 
was  cooked  well,  as  the  extent  of  the  table  depends  almost 
entirely  on  the  taste  and  pocket  of  the  guest.  Its  hall-way 
was  a  narrow  passage,  with  a  small  opening  in  the  .  right  wall 
for  a  bar  and  office,  a  door  opposite  leading  into  a  cramped 
and  not  particularly  neat  kitchen,  ihroiigh  zuhich  the  billiard- 
rooni  was  approached,  a  stairway  beyond  the  kitchen-door, 
and  a  little  smoking-room  at  the  end  of  the  passage.  The 
bed-rooms  were  in  good  condition,  and  clean. 

After  supper  I  went  into  the  billiard-room.  The  evening 
was  wet  and  chilly ;  and  a  fire  was  smouldering  in  the  kitchen- 
fireplace,  before  which  sat  two  old  women,  smoking  pipes. 
Opposite  the  door  I  entered  was  a  narrow,  battened  door, 
which  opened  into  the  billiard-room.  This  saloon  was  about 
fifteen  by  twenty  feet,  with  a  rather  agitated  floor,  a  low  ceil- 
ing frescoed  under  the  immediate  auspices  of  a  swarm  of 
flies,  and  bare  and  dingy  walls. 

The  billiard-table  was  manned  by  two  strapping  young 
fellows,  and  the  stable-boy  was  marking  for  them.  He  had 
just  the  position  to  please  a  boy,  —  plenty  to  see,  and  little 
to  do. 


378  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

The  Irish  play  billiards  with  a  vim  that  would  be  useful  at 
a  ruction.  They  are  an  impetuous  people  at  any  time,  and 
do  not  seem  to  possess  the  faculty  of  restraint  on  needful 
occasion.  These  two  fellows  (and  fine-looking  fellows  they 
were)  smashed  the  balls  about  with  a  velocity  that  was  aston- 
ishing, and  then  swore  every  three  minutes  at  their  luck.  I 
watched  them  for  an  hour  ;  but,  seeing  no  abatement  to  their 
speed,  I  returned  to  the  smoking-room. 

Enniskillen  is  on  Lough  Erne,  the  Killamey  of  Northern 
Ireland.  The  lake  is  about  twenty  miles  in  length,  and  of 
varying  width.  At  the  widest  part  it  is,  I  should  judge,  full 
six  miles.  It  has  a  steamer  ;  but  it  was  not  running  when  I 
was  there,  owing  to  lack  of  patronage  ;  although  I  offered  to 
take  passage,  if  the  owner  would  fire  up.  Half  way  down 
the  lake  is  a  fine  hotel ;  but  its  shutters  were  up,  owing  to 
lack  of  patronage.  I  don't  know  when  Lx)ugh  Erne  will 
pay  in  a  commercial  view ;  but  it  must  first  become  popular 
before  tourists  will  visit  it.  My  little  experience  has  taught 
me  that  people  do  not  come  to  Europe  to  see  the  novel  and 
beautiful,  but  the  fashionable. 

Thousands  go  to  Killamey  who  never  hear  of  Lough  Erne  ; 
and  yet,  while  Killamey  is  majestic,  this  is  most  beautiful. 

Picture  to  yourself  a  lake  of  its  size,  with  three  hundred 
and  sixty-five  islands  dotting  its  surface,  and  nearly  every 
one  of  them  covered  with  foliage  to  the  water's  edge.  Its 
shores  are  not  high  and  rugged,  and  it  lacks  towering  moun- 
tains to  give  it  majesty ;  but  it  winds  and  twists  about  with 
romantic  irregularity,  and  again  widens  out  into  a  broad 
expanse  as  smooth  as  a  mirror  ;  while  the  distant  isle  appears 
like  a  castellated  city  of  the  olden  time. 

It  is  only  by  a  row-boat  that  the  trip  is  now  made  ;  and  I 
took  it  in  company  with  a  gentleman  from  Pennsylvania, 
who  was  visiting  Enniskillen  at  the  time. 

The  propellor  of  the  boat  was  a  short  and  spare-built 
man,  with  a  stout,  peculiar  white  face,  which  denoted  the 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  379 

presence  of  the  strength  of  his  people,  —  consumption.  No 
people  live  out  doors  so  much  as  the  Irish,  and  no  people 
suffer  so  much  from  this  dreadful  disease  ;  and  yet  fresh 
air  is  its  enemy.  I  doubted,  as  I  looked  at  him,  that  he 
would  pull  us  through ;  but  the  doubt  gave  way  to  wonder 
before  the  trip  was  over.  We  pulled  around  the  village,  — 
Enniskillen  is  on  an  island,  —  and  then  through  a  tongue  of 
water  to  the  open  lake.  As  we  came  out,  we  passed,  on  the 
point  of  land  to  our  right,  a  modern  mansion  with  fine 
grounds,  and  on  that  to  the  left  the  broken  walls  of  a  castle. 
It  is  called  Portova  Castle,  from  the  fact  that  it  stands  at  the 
point  where  those  taking  dead  friends  to  Devenish  Island 
embarked  in  boats ;  Portova  signifying  "  Port  of  Tears." 
We  passed  close  to  the  castle ;  but  there  was  no  particular 
interest  about  it.  Nothing  but  the  four  walls,  with  massive 
turrets  at  each  angle,  now  remain.  Of  all  the  gay  and 
scheming,  and  good  and  bad,  and  hopeful  and  despairing, 
who  have  occupied  it,  none  can  boast  as  much  balance  as 
the  old  building,  which  could  see  nothing  and  hears  noth- 
ing, can  show. 

Wlien  you  have  got  to  this  stage  in  your  journey  through 
Europe,  you  will  have  come  to  look  upon  ruins  with  about 
the  same  intensity  of  interest  that  you  would  contemplate 
pine-trees  after  a  month's  sojourn  in  Maine. 


380  ENGLAND    FROM    A    RACK-WINDOW. 


CHAPTER  XLV. 


A   MEDITATIVE   PENNSYLVANIAN. 


AS  we  moved  up  the  lake,  it  grew  wider ;  and  in  a  few 
minutes  we  got  breeze  enough  to  warrant  the  boatman 
putting  up  the  sail. 

It  was  a  nice  breeze ;  and,  under  its  impulse,  we  glided 
comfortably  along.  I  took  charge  of  the  helm ;  and  the 
Pennsylvanian  wrapped  himself  up  in  his  o\vn  reflections ; 
which  is  a  habit  with  Pennsylvanians,  he  told  me. 

Our  main  objective  point  was  Devenish  Island, — a  place 
of  ruins.  Just  before  we  reached  it,  the  boatman  pointed  to  a 
clump  of  rushes  growing  up  through  the  water  near  Devenish, 
and  said  that  it  was  an  island,  although  now  submerged ;  and 
that,  once  on  a  time,  a  friar,  being  sore  pressed  by  a  horse- 
man, jumped  from  Devenish  to  it,  and  saved  himself 

This  statement  aroused  the  Pennsylvanian  at  once.  He 
stood  up  in  the  boat,  and  looked  at  the  two  jioints. 

"  Why,"  said  he,  "  that  is  a  distance  of  nearly  one  hundred 
feet ;  and  do  you  mean  to  say,  my  man,  that  anybotly  over 
jumped  that  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  the  boatman  quietly. 

"  Did  —  did  it  strain  him  ?  "  asked  my  companion  anx- 
iously. 

"  I  don't  know,  sir,"  answered  the  man.  "  IJut  he  diil  it, 
sir;  an'  I've  often  heard  it  told." 

"  Well,  I  don't  believe  any  man  could  jump  that  distance,' 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  38 1 

Stoutly  asserted  my  friend;  "unless,"  he  shortly  added,  as  a 
new  light  seemed  to  strike  him,  —  "  unless  he  —  he  spit  on 
his  hands." 

We  ran  the  boat  upon  the  beach,  and  landed.  Devenish 
is  an  island  of  some  twenty-five  acres.  It  has  not  a  tree  or 
bush  upon  it ;  but  it  is  covered  with  rank  grass,  —  a  fact  that 
is  beautified  by  distance  two  hours  after  a  rain. 

Devenish  is  the  most  important  bit  of  land,  viewed  in 
connection  with  ruins,  to  be  found  in  Ireland. 

Its  ruins  consist  of  remains  of  a  monastery  (said  to  have 
been  founded  by  St.  Molaisse  thirteen  hundred  years  ago), 
a  round- tower,  a  great  church,  a  priory,  and  remains  of 
earthen  forts. 

The  item  which  made  the  greatest  impression  upon  the 
Pennsylvanian  was  the  height  and  liquidity  of  the  grass. 
He  had  on  a  pair  of  Philadelphia  fine  boots ;  and,  by  the 
time  he  reached  the  top  of  the  ridge,  every  pore  of  those 
boots  was  drawng  water.  Despite  my  expostulations,  he 
swore  he  would  return  to  the  boat ;  and  return  he  did.  He 
said  that  he  didn't  care  to  die  in  a  strange  land  of  inflamma- 
tory rheumatism. 

But  I  pressed  on,  although  I  could  feel  the  water  souse  in 
my  boots  at  every  step. 

Of  the  ruin^  I  came  first  upon  a  church-tower,  with  its 
sustaining  arch.  This  is  the  church.  I  picked  my  way  over 
the  fallen  stones  to  beneath  the  arch,  and  found  in  one  wing 
of  it  a  stairway  of  stone,  but  was  unable  to  ascend.  A 
portion  of  a  wall  was  standing  ;  but  there  was  nothing  more 
left  of  the  church.  St.  Molaisse's  house  is  even  less  satis- 
factory to  the  tourist.  But  a  small  fragment  of  one  of  its 
walls  remains.  Not  long  ago  it  was  in  a  complete  state,  and 
was  then  a  low,  stone-roofed,  oblong  building,  with  a  door 
at  one  end.  Having  been  built  thirteen  hundred  years  ago, 
it  hardly  seems  possible  that  it  could  have  been  in  good 
condition  within  the  present  century ;  but  a  glance  at  this 


382       ENGLAND  FROM  A  RACK-WINnOW. 

fragment  of  wall,  enormous  in  thickness,  weakens  scepticism. 
Some  one  must  have  demolished  it ;  but  who  he  could  have 
been,  no  one  knows.  He  is  safe,  so  far  as  I  am  concerned. 
A  man  who  can  tear  down  a  building  like  that  will  never  be 
hunted  by  any  of  our  family. 

Near  by  his  house,  in  a  mound  of  earth,  is  the  broken  stone 
roftin  of  St.  Molaisse ;  but  of  Saint  Molaisse  himself  there  is 
not  a  pinch.  He  is  as  if  he  never  were.  The  lid  to  his 
coffin  now  forms  a  monument  to  some  individual  who  is 
trying  to  snatch  a  few  winks  of  sleep  beneath  his  stolen 
property.  He  lies  in  the  graveyard  of  the  church  ;  for  the 
burial-place  is  still  here,  and  is  still  in  use.  These  British 
people  can  make  a  graveyard  go  farther  than  we  can. 
Cemeteries  four  and  five  hundred  years  old  are  common 
enough  here.  But  in  America,  as  soon  as  a  graveyard  gets 
a  little  old,  we  dig  it  up,  and  put  down  a  new  street  in  its 
place.  Ten  years  after,  some  one  comes  along,  and  wants 
his  wife's  uncle,  who  had  been  laid  there.  No'  one  knows 
what  has  become  of  the  old  gentleman  ;  but  every  one  tries 
to  pacify  the  grief-stricken  nephew.  But  he  won't  be  con- 
soled. He  dances  around,  and  demands  his  uncle,  and 
finally  drags  the  town  into  a  law-suit. 

The  British  are  more  reverential  than  we,  and  reap  the 
benefit  thereof. 

The  place  is  still  used  as  a  burial-ground,  —  this  wild, 
lonesome  spot,  which  nobody  can  reach  without  a  boat, 
which  has  no  fence  about  it  to  keep  the  cattle  who  pasture 
here  from  trampling  over  and  befouling  the  graves.  Saints 
and  monks,  and  holy  men  of  all  degrees,  have  slept  here ; 
and,  as  we  are  all  our  lives  trying  to  get  into  good  company, 
it  is  but  natural  that  the  weakness  should  follow  us  to  the 
grave. 

As  you  can  imagine,  many  of  these  graves  are  but  simjile 
clumps  of  earth,  with  no  form  to  designate  their  nature. 
They  are  thick  together ;  and  I  dare  say  they  are  freiiuenlly 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  383 

in  layers,  one  above  the  other ;  and  most  of  them  are  marked 
by  a  simple  rough  stone  from  the  fields,  without  any  mark 
upon  it. 

The  round-tower  interested  me  more  than  any  other  ob- 
ject on  the  island.  Round-towers  are  peculiar  to  Ireland 
alone.  I  don't  know  how  many  there  are  of  them  here  ;  but 
they  are  common.  They  are  the  best  preserved  of  any 
stone-work  left  by  the  ancients.  The  gate-posts  in  Ulster 
are  sort  of  copies  of  the  round-towers.  A  round-tower  is 
from  sixty  to  a  hundred  feet  high,  with  a  sharp,  conical  roof, 
also  of  stone.  You  take  a  post,  and  point  one  end  of  it, 
and  you  have  the  exact  pattern  of  a  round-tower.  It  is 
built  of  dressed  stone,  laid  so  neatly  together  as  to  be  sym- 
metrical, and  to  need  no  mortar.  This  one  has  an  orna- 
mental cornice  around  its  eaves ;  but  few  do.  It  has  a 
small  opening  for  a  door  some  eight  or  nine  feet  from  the 
ground,  and  several  openings  above,  which  were  probably 
used  for  windows.  This  tower,  from  the  ground  to  the  roof, 
is  sixty-seven  feet  high  ;  and  the  roof  is  sixteen  feet  in  height. 
There  were  probably  six  floors  to  this  tower ;  but  how  each 
was  reached  I  am  not  able  to  explain,  as  the  internal  diame- 
ter of  the  tower  is  only  eight  feet  at  the  base,  and  but  six 
feet  and  a  half  at  the  cornice.  Its  base  has  a  circumference 
of  forty-nine  feet,  and  its  top  forty-two  feet.  The  wall, 
which  is  four  feet  one  inch  at  the  bottom,  tapers  down  to 
about  eight  inches  at  the  top.  These  figures  will  give  some 
idea  of  its  size  and  enormous  strength.  It  would  be  much 
more  interesting,  if  anybody,  I  am  not  particular  who,  knew 
when  this  and  the  other  towers  were  built,  and  what  they 
were  built  for.  There  is,  of  course,  a  vast  amount  of  specu- 
lation in  regard  to  their  origin  and  use.  One  opinion  is, 
that  they  were  built  by  worshippers  of  the  sun  ;  another,' 
that  they  were  watch-towers  (but  the  people  of  those  times 
never  put  watch-towers  at  the  base  of  ridges,  unless  they 
possessed  a  kind  of  idiocy  superior  to  any  thing  this  age 


384  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

knows  Off)  ;  still  another,  that  they  were  constructed  as  bell- 
towers.  That  they  were  for  protection  is  evident  by  the 
doors  being  so  far  from  the  ground,  and  there  being  no  rem- 
nant of  steps  or  stoops.  A  man  who  had  his  door  from  ten 
to  fifteen  feet  from  the  ground  would  hardly  be  careless  or 
indifferent  in  the  building  of  a  stoop.  There  is  as  much 
divergence  of  opinion  as  to  their  age  as  to  their  purpose. 
A  claim  has  been  put  in  to  the  effect  that  they  were  built 
before  the  beginning  of  the  Christian  era ;  but  I  give  no 
encouragement  to  those  people.  I  think  they  ought  to  be 
arrested.  I  have  tried  to  crowd  in  a  theory  that  they  are 
ancient  wells,  thro\vn  up  to  the  surface  by  some  volcanic 
movement,  and  roofed  in  the  sharp,  conical  form  by  an 
affrighted  people,  with  a  view  to  turning  them  over,  and 
driving  them  into  the  earth  again.  This  is  the  most  sen- 
sible idea  on  the  subject  that  I  have  yet  heard.  All  that  I 
need  to  make  a  sure  thing  of  it  is  to  find  somebody  who 
will  explain  why  they  didn't  do  it.  As  that  is  the  easiest 
end  of  the  argument,  there  ought  to  be  no  trouble  in  finding 

The  owner  of  this  island  is  a  proud  man,  —  a  round- 
tower,  church,  jjriory,  stone  coffin,  oratory,  graveyard,  and 
pasturage  for  forty  cows,  in  one  lump.  A  boy  with  red 
tops  to  his  boots  is  in  the  slough  of  despond  alongside  of 
this  chap. 

When  I  got  back  to  the  boat,  I  found  the  crew  smoking  a 
pipe,  and  the  Pennsylvanian  on  the  beach,  trj'ing  to  get  on  a 
pair  of  tight  boots  over  a  pair  of  wet  stockings.  He  had 
got  one  boot  on,  and  had  nearly  conquered  the  other ;  but 
he  had  ruined  that  beach.  In  getting  on  the  boots,  he  had 
gone  over  a  strip  of  ground  about  eighty  feet  in  length  and 
thirty  feet  in  width,  and  had  torn  up  the  earth  over  every 
inch  of  it.  When  I  came  up  he  was  as  red  in  the  face  as  a 
beet,  and  was  yelling,  and  stamping  his  foot,  in  a  perfect 
ecstasy  of  rage. 


ENOLANn    FROM    A    HACK-WINnOW.  385 

However,  we  soon  fixed  it,  and  put  off  for  a  continuation 
of  the  trip.  The  wind  still  held  fair;  and  I  took  the  hchn, 
while  the  Pennsylvanian  took  a  seat  in  the  bow,  and  l)ecanie 
immediately  wrapped  up  in  reflection. 

We  passed  several  islands  of  no  moment,  and  went  by 
three  or  four  farmhouses.  The  scenery  was  quiet  and  im- 
pressive. No  life  was  seen  on  the  shore,  and  no  sound 
came  to  us  but  the  rippling  of  the  water  against  the  boat. 
There  was  a  heavy  bank  of  black  clouds  coming  up  above 
the  horizon  ;  but  one  could  look  upon  it  calmly,  as  this  was 
an  inland  sheet  of  water,  well  protected  by  high  ground. 

We  passed  a  high  ridge,  and  came  out  into  an  open  and 
exposed  part.  Half  way  across  this  the  wind  struck  us  with 
some  considerable  force,  and  the  rain  came  down  in  tor- 
rents. The  sail  filled  so  rapidly  as  to  cause  the  boat  to 
careen  half  way  over.  It  seemed  as  if  a  gale  were  tearing 
over  the  lake.  The  vessel  rode  on  its  edge  ;  and  I  expected 
every  moment  we  would  upset,  and  wet  ourselves.  I  still 
hung  to  the  helm  and  an  umbrella,  and  kept  to  the  upper 
side  of  the  sloop.  The  crew  hung  to  the  sail  with  all  his 
might,  and  the  Pennsylvanian  buried  a  face  which  had  as- 
sumed the  color  of  unbolted  flour  beneath  the  friendly  cover 
of  his  umbrella. 

All  the  while,  the  storm  increased  in  violence  ;  and  the 
boat  was  now  riding  in  such  a  position,  that  it  was  only  by 
lapping  my  elbow  over  the  taffrail  that  I  kept  myself  from 
being  spilled  out.  The  crew  wanted  me  to  keep  out  to  sea ; 
but  I  concluded,  if  I  was  to  be  wrecked,  I  would  prefer 
being  wrecked  on  land  ;  and,  which  was  of  more  importance, 
the  umbrella  was  borrowed,  and  I  did  not  want  to  lose  it. 
So  I  ran  the  bark  for  the  first  land  ;  and  we  came  upon 
the  shore  with  a  precision  that  was  gratifying  to  me  as  a 
])ilot,  but  with  a  force  that  very  nearly  dislocated  the  spine 
of  the  crew. 

We  got  out  of  the  boat  as  soon  as  possible  ;  but  it  was  not 


386  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

a  hospitable  shore.  There  were  no  trees,  but  a  small  thorn 
growing  out  of  the  bank,  and  no  shelter  of  any  kind  from 
the  keen  wind  and  driving  rain.  There  we  stood  for  three- 
quarters  of  an  hour,  keeping  the  tops  of  our  heads  perfectly 
dry  with  the  umbrellas.  If  anybody  could  have  observed 
us,  he  would  have  undoubtedly  wondered  where  all  the 
water  came  from  which  was  running  down  our  legs. 

It  was  a  pleasure-party ;  and  we  were  tourists  who  had 
nothing  to  do  but  to  travel  around  and  enjoy  ourselves,  and 
live  at  hotels. 

Several  times  I  spoke  to  the  Pennsylvanian  about  it ;  but 
he  didn't  seem  to  enter  into  the  spirit  of  the  remark. 

He  said,  if  he  could  only  get  safely  back  to  the  Cumber- 
land Mountains,  he  would  never  leave  them  for  such  an  out- 
landish and  cussed  country  as  this. 

I  like  to  see  a  man  show  spirit. 

The  rain  stopped,  and  we  once  more  tried  the  boat ;  but 
we  didn't  put  up  the  sail.  The  Pennsylvanian  said  he 
would  pull  his  arms  out  of  their  sockets  first. 

Our  next  point  of  interest  was  the  Island  of  Innismac- 
saint.  There  is  a  church  ruin  upon  it ;  but  it  was  a  pecul- 
iar cross  that  I  wanted  to  see.  We  reached  there  in  about 
an  hour.  The  cross  was  hardly  worth  the  coming  to  see  : 
it  was  rude  in  execution,  and  peculiar  in  constniction,  being 
of  one  piece,  as  if  cut  out  of  a  rough  slab.  The  boatman 
viewed  the  stone  with  considerable  reverence. 

"  Is  there  any  thing  remarkable  about  that?"  I  asked. 

"  Yes,  sir.  Every  Easter  morn,  at  the  crowing  of  the  cock, 
the  cross  jumps  out  oov  the  airth,  and  turns  aroond  thrice." 

"  \\'ill  you  be  good  enough  to  repeat  that  remarkable  state- 
ment?" asked  the  Pennsylvanian  with  breathless  interest. 

The  crew  complied. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  it  perform  that  little  exercise?  " 

The  crew  said  he  had  not. 

"  Or  anybody  who  has  seen  it?  " 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  387 

The  crew  shook  his  head. 

"  I  wouldn't  stand  so  close  to  it,  if  I  were  you,"  said  the 
Pennsylvanian  kindly  :  "  it  may  jump  out  of  the  ground,  and 
kick  you  into  the  lake. 

"  Oh  !  it  don't  come  out  only  at  Easter,"  said  the  man 
innocently. 

"You  can't  always  tell,"  said  Penn.  "This  is  just  like 
Easter  weather,  and  the  cross  may  have  mislaid  its  al- 
manac." 

The  crew  shook  his  head.  The  gentleman's  excessive 
faith  rather  staggered  him. 

We  got  back  to  Enniskillen  at  dark,  well  tired,  thoroughly 
wet,  and  two-thirds  starved. 

The  next  day  was  butter-market,  and  scores  of  country- 
people  were  in  town.  Their  counterparts  can  be  seen  in 
Castle  Garden  on  the  arrival  of  an  emigrant-ship.  There 
were  a  large  number  of  Connaught  men,  the  pure  Irish,  —  so 
pure  as  not  to  have  mastered  the  English  language,  - —  who 
brought  interpreters  with  them  to  enable  them  to  make 
bargains  with  the  village  people.  They  wore  corduroy  pants, 
and  long  frieze  coats,  and  decayed  stovepipe  hats.  They 
are  dying  out,  are  the  old  Irish,  and  a  new  people  are 
crowding  them  out ;  and  the  day  will  come  when  the  pure 
Irish  will  have  passed  into  history  and  legend. 

Go  up  and  down  the  principal  streets  of  Belfast,  Dublin, 
Cork,  or  any  other  Irish  city,  and  four-fifths  of  the  names  on 
the  places  of  business  are  not  familiar  as  Irish  names  to  us 
Americans. 

And  why  not  ?  Ireland  is  a  fine  country,  has  excellent 
seaports,  good  soil,  and  is  most  healthfully  lacated.  The 
Irish  themselves  are  deserting  it,  and  enterprising  men  of 
other  countries  are  pushing  in  there.  The  result  is  as  certain 
as  the  kick  of  a  mule. 


388  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 

AN   ANCIENT   C\NDY-PULL. 

I  HAVE  always  had  the  impression  that  Wales  could  show 
more  ruins  than  any  of  the  three  countries  which  help  it 
to  make  up  the  United  Kingdom ;  but  I  ,am  beginning  to 
waver.  Ireland  abounds  in  ruins.  It  would  be  absurd  in 
me  to  give  a  detailed  description  of  the  many  I  have  seen, 
or  even  to  refer  to  them  separately.  I  haven't  the  time,  nor 
you  the  patience,  to  permit. 

All  that  I  can  do  is  to  say  that  they  exist  in  every 
direction,  are  to  be  found  on  the  hill-tops  and  in  the  valleys, 
and  consist  of  castles,  fortifications,  tombs,  churches,  &c. 
The  only  objection  that  any  one  can  have  to  them  is  their 
dismal  similarity.  Shake  them  up  together  in  a  blanket,  and 
turn  them  out  again,  and  I  doubt  if  the  owners  of  two-thirds 
of  them  could  select  their  property.  This  is  a  frightful  state 
of  things. 

America's  principal  interest  and  sympathy  is  with  England's 
history ;  Scotland  comes  next,  Ireland  third,  and  Wales 
fourth  :  so  the  local  history  of  the  ruins  of  Ireland  interests 
us  much  less  than  the  local  history  of  those  of  either 
England  or  Scotland.  But  the  traditions,  legends,  and 
records  of  these  Irish  ruins  are  sufficiently  graphic  to  satisfy 
the  most  exacting  in  ghostly  lore  or  heroic  memories. 

Both  Ireland  and  Wales  would  have  got  along  much  better 
on  the  start  if  their  early  heroes  had  possessed  reasonable 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  389 

cognomens.  W^e  soon  tire  of  a  man  whose  name  we  can't 
pronounce ;  and  it  is  not  to  be  expected,  that,  at  this  great 
distance,  we  can  take  the  slightest  interest  in  the  affairs  of 
Hi  Failge,  Magh-Liffe,  Msehnordha,  Colla-dachuch,  Uidhir, 
and  other  people  of  like  names.  There  was,  for  instance, 
St.  Mceog,  —  a  good  man,  undoubtedly  ;  but  just  think  of  his 
name,  and  the  names  he  descended  from  !  His  father's  name 
was  Aedh.  His  mother  came  of  Amhalgaidha,  who  was  the 
son  of  Tiachra,  who  was  the  son  of  Eochaidh  Muighmedhoin. 
They  didn't  have  directories  in  those  days.  That  is  the  only 
thing  that  saved  them. 

The  fact  is,  the  early  history  of  Ireland  has  been  simply 
self-containing :  it  has  not  influenced  the  outside  world ; 
it  has  operated  only  on  itself;  and,  for  centuries,  it  consisted 
simply  of  family  .and  sectional  broils. 

But  it  has  spilled  blood  enough  to  make  its  soil  the  richest 
in  the  kingdom. 

Once  Ireland  was  divided  into  four  kingdoms,  each  having 
a  separate  court ;  and  the  whole  country  is  scarcely  three 
hundred  miles  in  its  greatest  length,  and  not  two  hundred 
miles  at  its  greatest  breadth.  Those  divisions  remain  unto 
the  present  day,  and  are  called  Ulster  (the  north),  Connaught 
(the  west),  Leinster  (the  east),  and  Munster  (the  south). 
Belfast  is  the  chief  city  of  the  first ;  Galway,  of  the  second ; 
Dublin,  of  the  third ;  and  Cork,  of  the  fourth. 

I  went  direct  to  Dublin  from  Enniskillen,  as  I  was  obliged 
to  go  to  England  for  a  few  days. 

On  my  return  I  left  Dublin,  and  took  a  cut  across  the 
country  to  Galway.  How  much  I  had  heard  of  the  "  men 
of  Galway,"  and  how  I  longed  to  see  them  ! 

The  ride  was  wofully  lacking  in  interest.  We  passed 
through  Maynooth,  Mullingar,  and  Athlone,  whose  names  you 
are  familiar  with.  They  were  straggling  towns,  built  upon 
the  same  model ;  a  few  prominent  houses  in  the  centre, 
with  a  belt  of  low,  white-washed,  thatched-roofed  dwellings 


390  ENGLAND    FROM    A    liACK-WIXDOW. 

of  the  poor,  making  the  suburbs.  It  had  been  raining  all 
the  night  before,  and  the  streets  were  muddy  and  dreary  in 
the  extreme. 

For  the  greater  part  of  the  route  tlie  country  was  barren, 
and  the  houses  wretched.  I  might  say  that  all  I  passed,  so 
few  were  the  exceptions,  were  one-story  stone  buildings,  with 
white-washed  walls  and  thatched  roofs.  They  frequently  set 
down  in  a  hollow,  with  no  cared-for  grounds  around  them, 
with  scarcely  a  length  of  fence  about  them.  It  had  been 
raining ;  and  the  one  or  two  cows  and  horse  of  the  occupants 
had  cut  up  the  soft  turf  about  the  doors,  making  mud  and 
mud-puddles.  The  fields  were,  to  a  great  extent,  unculti- 
vated, and,  by  their  appearance,  afforded  slim  pasturage.  The 
staple  production  a])i)eared  to  be  potatoes ;  and  the  Irish 
know  how  to  raise  potatoes,  and,  better  still,  how  to  cook 
them. 

The  nearer  we  approached  Gahvay,  the  poorer  and  more 
desolate  became  the  country ;  and  within  a  few  miles  of  that 
city  we  came  upon  a  stony  district,  the  formation  being  not 
greatly  dissimilar  to  that  at  the  Giant's  Causeway.  We  also 
passed  here  a  number  of  shells  of  stone  shanties,  the  roofs 
and  doors  being  gone. 

The  Irish,  as  you  are  probably  aware,  are  partial  to  immi- 
gration. They  go  to  America  in  great  numbers  to  better 
themselves.  It  is  a  great  place  for  that  purpose,  and  these 
roofless  and  doorless  shanties  were  once  occupied  by  j^eople 
who  are  now  in  America.  They  couldn't  take  them  to  their 
new  home  :  they  were  not  theirs  to  sell.  They  left  them. 
And,  once  alone  and  unprotected,  the  neighbors  and  tlie 
elements  have  done  the  rest.  But  it  may  be  inquired  here. 
Did  not  the  landlord  have  an  interest  in  this  matter?  and 
why  did  he  not  take  care  of  his  property?  These  are 
pertinent  in(]uirics.  The  generally-received  idea  of  a  land- 
lord is  a  man  who  guards  his  pro])erty  with  a  jealous  eye, 
and  exacts  his  own  to  the  utmost  farthing.     And  so  I  don't 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  39 1 

understand  this  Irish-landlord  question.  I  hear  of  absent 
and  careless  landlords,  and  of  tyrannizing  and  avaricious 
landlords  ;  but  these  terms  do  not  explain  the  trouble.  They 
are  not  synonymous,  if  I  know  myself;  but  they  are  both 
used  to  express  the  same  result. 

I  am  told,  that  as  the  landlords  are  absent  from  their  prop- 
erty, and  indifferent  to  the  interests  of  their  tenants,  the 
tenants  suffer.  And  another  scholar  and  philosopher  says 
the  landlord  divides  up  his  property  into  small  farms  of  from 
five  to  twenty-five  acres  each,  with  a  view  to  getting  the 
most  money  out  of  it ;  and  a  man  with  so  little  land  makes 
hardly  sufficient  to  get  food  for  his  family ;  and  that  is  the 
reason  the  land  is  desolate,  and  the  houses  mere  shanties. 
But  this  don't  explain  those  stripped  houses,  because  the 
farms  attached  to  them  are  of  but  a  few  acres,  which  shows 
the  avaricious  landlord ;  and  they  are  stripped  of  the  straw 
on  their  roofs  and  the  wood  from  the  doors,  which  indicates 
the  absent  and  profligate  and  indifferent  landlord.  If  you 
can  explain  this,  I  hope  you  will  come  over  here  and  do  so. 

But  we  will  leave  the  topic  for  the  present. 

On  reaching  Galway,  I  found  a  large  four-story,  handsome 
building  as  the  station  hotel,  and  I  was  glad  to  see  it.  As  it 
is  about  the  first  building  the  visitor  to  Galway  sees  on  arriv- 
ing, he  naturally  falls  into  the  error  of  believing  the  city  to 
be  large  and  flourishing.  I  presume  this  hotel  has  ample 
accommodation  for  two  hundred  guests,  with  broad,  lofty  halls, 
splendid  stairways,  a  fine  billiard-room,  coffee-rooms,  &c. 

Galway  has  a  population  of  thirteen  thousand,  or  rather 
did  have  three  years  ago  ;  but,  judging  from  the  ratio  of 
decrease  in  the  past  ten  years,  it  may  be  doubted  if  it  now 
has  that  number. 

One  writer  on  the  towis  of  Ireland  says,  "  Such  a  town 
as  Galway  does  not  exist  in  Ireland."  Another  says,  "  In 
Galway  the  traveller  will  find  a  quaint  and  peculiar  city,  with 
antiquities  such  as  he  will  meet  nowhere  else."     And  still 


392  KNGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

another  writes,  "  I  found  something  at  every  step  to  remind 
nie  of  the  cities  of  Spain,  and  a  peojjle  fully  as  picturesque 
as  the  Moors."  Each  \vritcr  finds  a  marked  resemblance  in 
the  town  to  Spanish  cities.  Now,  I  never  smelt  of  a  Spanish 
city ;  but  I  am  sure  Galway  is  no  dirtier,  and  smells  no  worse, 
than  Tuam,  Killarney,  Cashel,  and  many  other  Irish  towns. 
So  why  it  should  l)e  selected  above  these  places  as  peculiar- 
ly like  the  cities  of  Spain  is  something  I  do  not  quite  under- 
stand. 

Galway  is  a  lazy  place,  with  a  fine  hotel  it  hasn't  got 
money  enough  to  support,  and  warehouses  it  hasn't  the 
business  to  keep  going.  Its  streets  are  narrow,  crooked,  and 
not  clean.  Its  people  arc  like  other  people  on  this  west 
coast,  but  far  more  pronounced  in  the  true  Irish  characteris- 
tic than  those  to  be  found  in  the  north  and  east  or  south. 
They  are  well-formed  men  and  buxom  women.  It  must  be 
remembered  that  I  am  speaking  of  tlie  lower  classes,  —  the 
poor,  which  are  to  be  seen  on  every  hand  in  these  European 
cities.  They  are  not  like  the  people  of  American  towns,  — 
the  working,  active  Yankee  people.  You  notice  that  the 
moment  you  come  here.  And,  when  you  speak  of  the  people, 
you  refer  to  but  one  class ;  and  that  is  the  poorer  class,  for 
they  are  about  the  only  ones*  you  see  in  the  back  towns. 
There  is  some  wealth  about  here,  of  course ;  for  one  man 
near  Enniskillen  has  a  two-million-dollar  residence,  and  we 
all  know  that  it  costs  money  to  build  a  two-million-dollar 
house.     But  the  aristocrats  are  few,  and  far  between. 

The  t)q)ical  Irishman  is  seen  only  on  the  theatrical  stage 
and  in  Galway,  The  next  day  after  my  arrival  was  the  mar- 
ket-day, and  scores  of  typical  Irishmen  were  in  town.  They 
were  spare  built,  and  of  good  height.  They  wore  frieze 
coats  of  swallow-tail  jiattern,  and  conluroy  breeches  which 
came  only  to  the  knee,  where  they  fit  closely  to  blue  or  gray 
woollen  stockings.  That  end  of  them  was  finished  o(T  willi 
gaitcr-shocs  having  thick  soles.     They  wore  on  their  heads 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  393 

rusty  Stovepipe  hats,  somewhat  weak  in  the  crown  ;  and  they 
generally  carried  their  hands  in  their  pockets,  and  a  short 
stick  under  one  arm,  —  the  first  Irishmen  I  had  seen  with  the 
national  characteristic.  Many  of  them  were  rosy-cheeked 
and  bright-eyed  ;  but  others  were  pale-faced  and  pinch-eyed, 
as  men  who  had  toiled  and  suffered,  and  had  long  ago  given 
up  all  hope,  and  were  now  patiently  bearing  their  burden. 

It  was  the  market-day,  and  rainy.  I  was  up  early,  and 
from  the  coffee-room  window  could  look  down  a  street  lead- 
ing from  the  country  into  the  market-square.  And  up  this 
street  for  a  full  hour  the  farmers  straggled  along  with  their 
produce.  Each  one  had  a  little  pony  or  donkey  hitched  to 
a  low  cart,  which  appeared  to  have  thills  at  each  end ;  and 
on  the  cart  were  a  half-dozen  or  so  of  long  bags  filled  with 
potatoes.  Some  of  them  had  oats,  and  a  few  brought  in  hay 
or  straw.  The  farmer  appeared  at  the  head  of  the  animal, 
with  his  hand  on  the  bridle ;  while  the  wife  either  rode  or 
walked  behind.  She  wore  a  bluish  cloak  of  frieze,  which 
reached  nearly  to  her  feet,  with  a  cape  over  the  head.  Some 
of  them  wore  white  caps  under  the  cape,  and  red  petticoats 
under  the  cloak.  They  were  well-formed,  healthy-looking 
women,  with  faces  and  arms  browned  by  out-door  work. 
Some  of  them  were  very  old  and  shrivelled,  and  worn  out  by 
years  of  toil.  This  was  their  hfe,  —  toil  all  the  week,  and 
trudge  into  town  every  market-day.  The  shrivelled  was 
once  buxom ;  and  the  buxom  could  look  at  the  shrivelled, 
and  see  the  end  as  plainly  as  if  she  had  already  reached  it. 

The  clerk  of  the  market  met  them  at  the  head  of  the 
street,  and  collected  their  toll ;  and  they  passed  on  into  the 
square,  and  took  up  their  position.  Then  the  buyers  came 
about  and  examined  their  produce,  and  shook  their  heads 
very  despondently  over  the  exhibit,  as  being  so  much  infe- 
rior to  what  they  had  expected,  but  finally  endeavored  to 
look  more  hopeful,  and  at  last  offered,  as  an  encouragement 
to  farming,  five  per  cent  under  the  market-price.     I  wan- 


394  ENGLAND    FROM    A    RACK-WINl">OW. 

derecl  among  them  for  an  hour  or  more,  listening  to  blarney, 
bickering,  and  wit. 

-  \Vhen  1  went  over  to  Ireland,  an  Irish  gentleman  said  to 
me,  — 

"  Don't  be  disappointed  if  you  do  not  find  among  the 
poor  classes  that  sharp  wit  which  the  stage  and  anecdotes 
have  ascribed  to  them.  I  am  a  native,  and  have  travelled 
considerably  about  my  country  ;  but  I  have  failed  to  discover 
it  in  real  life.  I  am  proud  to  believe  that  my  countrymen 
are  as  sharp  as  the  average  ;  but  they  are  not  supernaturally 
so,  as  N\Titers  and  actors  would  have  us  believe  ;  and  the 
man  who  goes  over  there  with  the  impression  that  we  are  a 
nation  of  wits  is  disappointed  of  course,  and  frequently  falls 
to  abusing  us  as  a  set  of  dummies." 

It  is  just  as  well,  perhaps,  that  I  encountered  him. 

These  men  in  rusty  gannents  and  knock-kneed  hats  are 
the  farmers.  Those  huts  or  shanties  outside,  with  their 
thatched  roofs  and  mud  surroundings,  are  the  farm-houses. 
Where  the  farm-laborers  are  I  don't  know.  I  don't  want  to 
see  them,  if  their  employers  are  in  such  destitute  circum- 
stances. 

I  had  a  talk  with  a  Galway  editor  on  the  subject  of  form- 
ing. He  said  the  poverty  of  the  country  was  due  to  the 
government  of  England.  He  appeared  to  be  quite  unani- 
mous about  that.  I  asked  him  if  the  north  of  Ireland  was 
governed  by  England.  He  said  it  was.  I  asked  him  if 
he  could  explain  why  prosperity  existed  there,  and  did  not 
here ;  why  the  farms  there,  with  poorer  soil  than  the  farms 
here,  were  smiling,  while  these  were  weeping.  He  explained, 
that  I,  being  a  foreigner,  could  not  understand  these  things. 
He  was  right  about  my  being  a  foreigner ;  but  as  to  not  un- 
derstanding "  these  things  "  he  was  WTong. 

The  Irish  people  are  impulsive,  warm-heartcil,  generous. 
Those  at  the  north  have  got,  with  their  Scotch  blood,  the 
Scotch  pertinacity  ;  and  you  couldn't  st;irve  them  if  you  kept 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    RACK-WINDOW.  395 

them  on  a  billiard-table.  Their  landlords  are  of  the  same 
blood  and  characteristics.  They  won't  let  their  land  run 
waste,  nor  their  materials  rust  and  rot :  that  is  money  out 
of  their  pockets.  They  don't  mortgage  their  farms  for  means 
to  enable  them  to  be  "  good  fellows  "  in  the  London  world. 

The  landlords  here  are  "  good  fellows  "  both  in  Dublin 
and  London,  but  poor  cusses  at  home.  They  hunt,  gamble, 
and  drink ;  and  the  tenants  can  go  to  the  devil,  for  all  they 
care  to  the  contrary.  They  give  a  man  from  five  to  twenty- 
five  acres  for  a  farm,  and  will  give  him  no  definite  lease 
of  even  this  pittance.  He  cannot  go  to  work  making  im- 
provements in  the  buildings  or  fences  or  stock ;  for  he 
knows  not  how  soon  he  may  be  turned  out  to  make  room  for 
some  one  else.  It  is  even  risky  for  him  to  draw  out  manure 
in  the  fall ;  for  he  knows  not  but  that  in  the  spring  another 
will  spread  it. 

No  wonder  his  clothes  are  rusty,  and  his  donkey  has  a 
rope  harness,  and  his  hens  roost  on  the  backs  of  his  chairs. 

If  the  leaders  of  the  people  would  only  teach  him  how  to 
force  his  landlord  into  decent  terms,  they  would  do  far  more 
good  for  Ireland  than  they  will  ever  accomplish  by  howling 
at  England. 

But  it  is  more  congenial  to  their  tastes  to  make  faces  at  a 
powerful  neighbor  than  to  remove  the  distress  and  misery 
of  a  weak  one. 

These  poor  farmers  and  their  families  have  my  heartiest 
S3ai"ipathy,  as  they  gain  the  sympathy  of  every  one  who  goes 
among  them,  and  sees  their  troubles,  their  toil,  and  the  gen- 
uine goodness  of  their  hearts.  They  are  easily  depressed, 
and  as  easily  buoyed  ;  and  then  they  forgive  and  forget,  and 
are  roughed  on  again,  and  the  whole  thing  repeated.  You 
don't  blame  them,  of  course,  for  getting  out  of  here  as  soon 
as  they  can,  and  striking  out  for  America.  But  you  will  be 
somewhat  startled  to  learn  that  many  of  them  are  coming 
back  again.     As  badly  off  as  they  are  here,  and  as  fair  and 


39^  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

free  as  is  our  country,  these  people,  or  rather  many  of  them, 
who  have  gone  to  America,  have  reached  tlie  conchision  that 
Ireland  is  the  best  place  of  the  two  to  starve  in;  and  so 
new  roofs  of  straw  and  turf  are  going  over  some  of  the 
tenantless  walls  which  abound  in  this  section,  and  bright- 
looking  American  trunks  are  illuminating  the  luggage-cars. 

They  are  beginning  to  think  the  land  of  the  free  and  the 
home  of  the  brave  is  a  failure  ;  and  in  some  senses  it  is. 
But  they  ought  to  be  glad  they  earned  enough  there  to  bring 
them  back  again  ;  and,  if  the  trip  has  taught  them  that  their 
worst  enemy  is  their  own  kith  and  kin,  they  need  never  regret, 
but  can  always  rejoice,  that  they  went  to  the  States,  and  so- 
jouiTied  under  the  "stars  and  strips  "  as  they  and  the  Scotch 
call  our  precious  flag. 

Nature  has  designed  the  Irish  race  for  apple-peddlers. 
Nowhere  else,  except  in  New  York,  will  you  see  so  many 
old  women  peddling  apples.  I  never  saw  them  sell  any ;  but 
they  peddle  them.  There  were  three  of  them  on  one  corner 
in  the  s(|uare  to-day.  I  was  attracted  to  them  by  an  old 
woman  with  one  good  leg  and  one  wooden  one,  who  had 
taken  offence  at  one  of  the  merchants,  and  was  giving  her  a 
terrific  tongue-lashing.  I  moved  up  to  the  scene  of  combat ; 
but  I  could  not  understand  it.  The  foe  did,  however,  and 
squirmed  so  visibly,  that  I  was  intensely  anxious  to  know 
what  was  going  on.  But  it  was  Gaelic,  and  not  a  word  of  it 
could  I  decipher.  The  guilty  woman  made  no  response ; 
and  the  one-legged  virago,  after  exhausting  herself,  gave  a 
triumphant  howl,  and  settled  down  on  the  pavement,  and  said 
no  more. 

Most  of  the  women  of  the  poorer  classes  go  bareheaded 
in  the  north  part  of  Ireland,  and  both  bareheaded  and  bare- 
footed here  and  in  the  south.  Then  Galway  has  a  class  of 
women  peculiar  to  itself.  They  have  a  little  village  on  the 
bay  caUed  "  The  Claddagh."  They  live  by  fishing  ;  the  men 
catching  the  fish,  and  the  women  selling  them  in  the  streets 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  39/ 

of  the  town.  It  is  a  community  by  itself,  believing  that  the 
Gahvegians  arc  inferior  to  themselves,  refusing  to  intermarry 
with  them,  but  consenting  (of  course  with  ill  gTace)  to  take 
their  money. 

The  Claddagh  men  I  did  not  see,  as  they  were  away  in 
their  boats  ;  but  the  women  I  saw,  and  saw  them  vehemently. 
They  wore  huge  baskets  on  their  back,  full  of  small  fry ;  or 
carried  a  bowl-shaped  basket  on  their  head,  with  a  single  fish 
in  it.  The  last  were  codfish,  and  would  weigh  from  five  to 
fifteen  pounds.  I  was  rarely  solicited  to  buy  the  small  fish  ; 
but  not  one  of  the  fifty  women  I  met  carrying  a  monstrous 
codfish  but  was  anxious  that  I  should  buy  it.  They  even 
came  into  the  hall  of  the  hotel  while  I  was  standing  there, 
and  pressed  me  to  buy  the  fish.  Being  a  stranger  there,  and 
staying  at  a  hotel,  it  seemed  natural  enough  that  I  should  be 
torn  by  anxiety  to  purchase  a  ten-pound  codfish.  But  I 
didn't  do  it.  Every  time  I  went  out-of  the  hotel,  or  returned 
to  it,  I  found  a  one-eyed,  lusty  young  fellow,  with  a  disagree- 
able breath,  on  the  walk  in  front,  who  besought  me,  for  the 
love  of  God,  to  give  him  a  copper  or  two  for  bread  to  save 
his  perishing  body.  It  was  sad  to  see  a  fellow  being  starved  ; 
but  I  couldn't  help  but  wish  I  weighed  as  much  as  he  did. 
Every  day,  and  all  day  long,  he  hung  in  front  of  the  hotel, 
skirmishing  for  coppers,  and  robbing  some  paper-mill  of  raw 
material. 

On  every  street  there  was  some  deformed  specimen  crjnng 
for  help,  for  the  love  of  a  good  God.  When  I  go  to  begging 
coppers,  I  shall  try  to  do  it  on  my  own  hook,  and  not  shoulder 
the  responsibility  on  to  my  Creator,  who  has  put  it  into  the 
heart  of  a  good  government  to  make  every  provision  for  the 
destitute. 

One  of  Galway's  buildings,  or  rather  fragment  of  a  build- 
ing, was  the  residence  of  a  gentleman  named  Fitz-Stephen 
in  1524.     He  was  the  mayor  of  the  town,  and  had  one  son. 


39^  ENGLAND    FROM    A    RACK-WINDOW. 

I 

The  printed  legend  is  to  the  efiect  that  the  son  went  to 
Spain  on  business  to  some  Spanish  firm  for  his  father ;  and, 
while  there,  the  firm  made  up  a  valuable  cargo  to  send  to 
Galway,  and  a  son  of  a  member  accompanied  it.  On  the 
voyage  young  Fitz-Stephen  conspired  with  the  crew  to  mur- 
der the  young  Spaniard,  and  convert  the  property  to  their 
own  use.  The  deed  was  subsecjuently  discovered  to  the 
mayor,  who  took  summary  vengeance  on  the  murderer,  — 
his  son. 

But  this  is  an  absurtl  version  of  the  murder.  Does  any 
one  suppose,  for  an  instant,  that  a  man  who  had  made  but 
one  sea-voyage  would  be  in  a  fit  condition  to  conspire  to  a 
murder?  If  you  think  so,  just  take  a  trip  across  the  Atlan- 
tic in  a  sailing-vessel ;  and  you  will  feel  so  little  like  murder, 
that  you  will  only  be  too  glad  to  crawl  away  somewhere  in 
the  hold,  and  be  grateful  for  permission  to  die  in  peace. 
And,  then,  remember  that  he  was  the  son  of  a  mayor,  and 
that  the  crime  was  committed  for  plunder.  Now,  there  is 
no  one  insane  enough  to  suppose  that,  the  son  of  a  mayor 
would  murder  for  money.  What  on  earth  does  the  son  of  a 
mayor  want  of  money  ? 

The  idea  is  so  ridiculous,  that  it  vexes  me  sorely  to  see 
people  believing  it.  The  true  story,  and  an  eminently  plausi- 
ble one,  my  Galway  friend  related  to  me. 

Young  Fitz-Stephen  did  not  go  to  Spain ;  but  the  young 
Spaniard  came  to  Galway,  and  was  the  honored  guest  of  the 
mayor  and  family.  He  staid  here  for  some  days,  the  place 
smelling  so  much  like  home  as  to  make  him  contented  with 
the  i)eople.  He  had  free  range  of  the  casde  of  the  Fitz- 
Stephens,  which  was  then  a  noble  two-story  building,  with 
a  separate  structure  for  the  hens. 

I5ut  in  an  evil  moment  he  fastened  his  eye  on  the  heiress 
of  a  considerable  property  across  the  river.  The  ruins  of 
her  liilJKr's  homestead  are  still  here.     Young  Fitz-Stephen 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINnOW.  399 

had  previously  fastened  one  of  his  eyes  on  the  same  young 
lady,  and  saw,  with  some  trepidation,  that  the  gallant  young 
Spaniard,  who  wore  a  yellow  neckerchief  and  played  on  a 
guitar,  was  getting  rather  thick  over  there.  I  know  a  little 
something  myself  of  these  guitar-players  :  they  are  death 
on  women.  One  of  them  cut  me  out,  when  I  was  mortally 
sure  of  having  every  thing  to  myself;  and  I  never  since  could 
bear  the  sight  of  a  guitar.  Young  Fitz-Stephen  was  not 
made  of  such  firm  stuff  as  I  am,  and  so  he  allowed  jealousy 
to  get  the  upper  hand  of  him.  There  was  a  party  at  her 
father's  castle  one  evening,  —  a  sort  of  candy-pull,  —  to 
which  all  the  young  people  were  invited.  Fitz-Stephen  and 
the  Spaniard  were  there.  The  latter  took  a  lively  interest  in 
the  candy,  and  ate  some  twelve  pounds  of  it ;  but  Fitz 
soured  on  it. 

The  next  morning  the  body  of  the  Spaniard  Was  found  in 
the  back-yard,  his  throat  cut  from  ear  to  ear,  and  his  hair  full 
of  imperfectly-boiled  molasses.  Young  Fitz  was  charged 
with  doing  the  deed,  although  it  is  more  than  likely  that  the 
deceased  overdid  himself  at  the  candy.  I  have  seen  just 
such  people  as  he,  young  beginners  and  gallant,  at  candy- 
pulls,  and  have  made  it  a  practice  to  always  take  a  look  in 
the  back-yard  the  next  morning  for  their  bodies. 

The  mayor  tried  his  son,  found  him  guilty,  and  con- 
demned him  to  be  executed  on  a  certain  day.  But  no  one 
could  be  found  to  be  the  hangman.  The  young  man  was 
popular,  and  had  many  relatives  and  friends.  They  besought 
the  mayor  to  have  mercy  upon  him,  and  to  pardon  him.  They 
were  confident  he  could  not  execute  his  son.  On  the  morn- 
ing of  the  day  appointed  by  the  old  gentleman,  the  relatives 
and-  friends  went  to  the  house ;  and  the  first  there  fell  back 
in  horror  at  beholding,  dangling  from  a  front-window,  the 
body  of  the  unhappy  son  !     The  old  ass  had  hung  him. 

The  moral  of  this  story  is  very  plain.     Young  men  who 


400  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

are  sons  of  mayors  should  eschew  Spaniards,  and  not  fool 
around  candy-pulls. 

IJut,  really,  wouldn't  you  like  to  see  a  nineteenth-century 
father  hanging  his  son?  — or  even  making  him  come  in  early 
of  an  evening? 


i 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  4OI 


CHAPTER  XLVII. 


GOING   TO   AN   IRISH    FAIR. 


RETRACING  my  way  to  Athenry,  thirteen  miles  from 
Galway,  I  took  a  branch  road  to  Tuam,  eighteen  miles 
from  Athenry.  The  country  between  Athenry  and  Tuam  is 
even  more  desolate  than  that  between  Athenry  and  Galway. 
The  land  either  lay  in  wide  moor,  or  sloped  up  into  hills 
bare  and  bleak.  Here  and  there  was  a  farm-shanty  ;  and  in 
several  of  the  fields  the  occupants,  mostly  women,  were  en- 
gaged digging  potatoes. 

I  went  up  to  Tuam  to  attend  a  fair.  Irish  fairs  have  a 
reputation  that  is  not  limited  to  Ireland,  and  I  wanted  to 
see  one.  The  fair  at  Donnybrook  generally  ended  in  a 
pleasure  and  rowdy  bout,  precipitated  upon  the  poor  Donny- 
brookers  by  Dublin  rowdies.  But  the  authorities  broke  that 
up  some  years  ago ;  and  now  Donnybrook  is  a  quiet  and 
well-behaved  suburb  of  Dublin,  and  has  exchanged  the  some- 
what doubtful  fame  of  other  days  for  the  less  exciting  but 
eminently  respectable  position  of  being  emblazoned  on  the 
side  of  a  street-car. 

Of  course  the  fairs  in  this  country  are  not  like  ours.  In 
England  they  consist  of  a  display  of  agricultural  implements 
and  cattle.  The  American  visitor  misses  the  cage  of  white 
mice,  and  the  bed-quilt  pieced  by  a  lady  one  hundred  years 
old,  and  deformed  vegetable  products.  But  the  English 
have  two  or  tliree  good  bars  on  the  grounds  j  and,  after  the 


402  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

American  has  visited  each  two  or  three  times,  he  loses  his 
discontent  in  a  measure. 

In  Ireland,  fairs  are  numerous.  Nearly  every  town  has 
one  or  more  in  the  course  of  the  year.  I  thought  it  must  be 
a  remarkably  lively  agricultural  region  to  support  so  many 
fairs.  In  this  month  alone  (Octohtr),  over  four  hundred 
fairs  are  hcKl  in  Ireland ;  there  were  full  as  many  last 
month ;  and  they  hold  them  more  or  less  through  the  fall 
and  winter  and  spring  months. 

\\'hy,  you  would  imagine  you  had  got  into  a  paradise  of 
farmers. 

The  Tuam  fair  was  to  be  held  on  Tuesday,  Wednesday, 
and  Thursday.  It  was  to  be  a  big  fair.  I  went  up  Saturday, 
as  I  understood  there  was  but  one  really  good  hotel  in  Tuam, 
and  I  wanted  a  room.  Saturday  was  the  market-day.  A 
jaunting-car  took  me  from  the  station,  through  a  straggling 
street,  into  the  market-place,  where  was  located  the  hotel. 
The  driver  of  the  car,  emulous  of  the  speed  made  by  his 
brethren  of  Dublin,  and  believing  that  I  came  from  that 
city,  endeavored  to  go  over  the  route  at  a  break-neck  pace, 
very  much  to  the  astonishment  of  the  horse,  but  was  humili- 
atingly  balked  by  divers  persons,  who,  not  understanding 
tliat  I  was  from  Dublin,  and  scarcely  realizing  the  necessity 
for  unusual  speed,  persisted  in  getting  in  the  way,  and  l)ring- 
ing  their  donkey-teams  with  them.  The  driver,  who  was  so 
long  and  lank  as  to  look  dreadfully  like  a  Yankee,  kept  up  a 
continual  "  hi-yi-ing  "  from  the  station  to  the  hotel ;  and,  on 
arriving  there,  he  had  become  so  heated,  and  his  eyes  set  so 
far  out  of  his  head  by  the  exertion,  that  I  cheerfully  paid 
doul)lc  fare. 

We  found  the  market-place  full  of  people.  Most  of  them 
were  farmers  and  farmers'  wives,  with  .the  low,  long  carts, 
and  donkeys  attachetl.  Some  of  them  were  the  poor  of  the 
town,  attracted  by  idle  curiosity,  or  by  the  i)rospect  of  pick- 
ing up  a  few  pennies  in  answer  to  well- worded  appeals,  or  in 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    RACK-WINnOW.  403 

exchange  for  copious  blessings.  And  many  were  of  a  new 
class,  not  yet  seen,  but  plenty  at  fairs  :  they  were  cattle- 
buyers,  —  sturdy  men,  in  the  prime  of  manhood,  and  enjoy- 
ing that  degree  of  health  consequent  upon  out-door  exercise 
and  a  well-regulated  conscience.  A  cattle-buyer's  con- 
science is  a  perfect  gem  —  in  its  way.  These  were  well- 
dressed  in  well-made  great-coats,  top-boots,  and  a  diamond 
ring.  They  carried  canes,  and  were  close  to  business. 
Some  of  them  were  fine-looking  young  fellows  from  Dublin  ; 
but  more  prominent  than  all  were  the  long-limbed  and 
broad-shouldered  men  of  Ulster,  —  the  finest-looking  men 
that  old  Ireland  can  number  among  her  sons  ;  and  finer  can- 
not be  found  in  any  country. 

All  of  them  had  bright  eyes,  white  teeth,  and  red  cheeks, 
and  were  hearty  of  voice.  They  stood  in  painful  contrast 
to  the  men  with  whom  they  dealt. 

There  were  potatoes  for  sale,  and  oats,  and  a  few  sheep 
and  pigs,  and  straw  and  peat. 

Galway  County,  and  pretty  much  all  of  Ireland,  is  well 
supplied  with  the  tough  turf  called  peat.  In  most  places  it  is 
dug  up  in  the  cakes  which  we  see  in  the  markets.  In  other 
places,  where  it  is  not  quite  so  tenacious,  it  is  harvested  in 
the  crumbling  form,  and  pressed  by  machinery  into  bricks. 
In  the  cities  it  is  quite  frequently  sold  in  bags  to  those  who 
are  in  good  circumstances ;  but  the  poor  classes  of  the  city 
buy  but  few  bricks  or  sods  at  a  time,  paying  a  halfpenny  for 
four  sods.  Here  and  in  the  country  it  is  sold  by  the  don- 
key-load, the  load  being  a  pile  about  four  feet  square,  for 
four  shillings  a  load. 

It  makes  considerable  heat,  a  bright  coal,  and  a  white 
ash.  It  is  not  so  clean  to  handle  as  coal,  and  is  not  so 
heavy ;  but  you  have  got  to  handle  more  of  it  in  a  day, 
which  compensates  for  lack  of  weight.  It  has  one  decidedly 
good  feature  :  its  ashes  do  not  require  sifting. 

I  had  gone  to  the  best  hotel  in  Tuam.      It  was  a  low. 


404  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

three-Story  building.  The  grand  hall-way  was  scarcely  three 
feet  wide.  It  was  floored  with  stone,  and  was  on  a  level 
with  the  sitlewalk.  I  have  said  that  it  had  been  raining, 
and  of  course  there  was  an  abundance  of  mud.  This  last 
had  been  ingeniously  guarded  against  by  laying  straw  in  the 
doorway.  The  straw  was  wet,  and  reeking  with  mud  from 
brogan  and  boot,  and  part  of  it  lay  on  the  walk ;  but  the 
greater  part  had  been  dragged  along  the  passage,  adding  to 
the  dreariness  of  that  apartment. 

Tuam  is  not  much  of  a  i)lace,  except  ecclesiastically,  as  it 
is  an  Episcopalian  see  and  Roman-Catholic  archbishopric. 
The  Church  of  Ireland  (a  branch  of  that  of  England)  and 
the  Church  of  Rome  have  each  a  cathedral  in  Tuam.  For 
a  place  of  scarcely  five  thousand  inhabitants,  that  is  doing 
very  well. 

The  Church  of  Ireland,  being  an  established  body,  is 
largely  supported  from  the  government  money ;  but  the  dis- 
establishment act  has  done  away  with  this  expense,  and,  when 
the  present  incumbents  of  pulpit  and  chair  vacate,  their  suc- 
cessors will  have  to  depend  upon  the  zeal  of  their  parishes 
for  income,  as  do  the  Catholics  and  Dissenters.  A\'hile  I 
am  speaking  of  religion,  I  might  as  well  say  that  there  are 
four  million  Catholics,  and  twelve  hundred  thousand  Protes- 
tants, in  Ireland.  Of  the  last-named,  over  a  half-million  are 
Presbyterians.  What  Methodists  there  are  reside  in  the 
north  of  Ireland  ;  which  is  one  of  the  causes,  perhaps,  of  the 
prosj)erity  of  that  section.  The  poorest  place  to  look  for 
pasturage  is  under  the  feet  of  a  Methodist. 

Well,  as  Tuam  has  scarcely  five  thousand  inhabitants,  and 
is  built  rather  compactly,  it  doesn't  take  long  to  look  over  it. 
I  devoted  a  couple  of  hours  to  the  task ;  and  I  found  it  a 
task.  The  mud  lay  thick  everywhere.  Many  of  the  houses 
were  simply  shanties,  and  squalid  appearing  ;  and  the  people 
whom  one  mostly  met  were  painfully  poor.  Every  little 
while  I  came  upon  a  few  words  over  a  door  to  the  effect 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    RACK-WINDOW.  405 

that  the  party  inside  was  licensed  to  retail  beer  or  porter. 
Cloing  into  one  of  these,  I  found  an  earth  floor,  a  wall  imme- 
diately on  the  right,  with  a  long  bench  in  front  of  it,  a  small 
bar  to  the  left  covered  with  stains,  and  a  roaring  fireplace 
at  the  end  of  the  bar.  Hanging  from  a  hook  in  the  chim- 
ney was  a  huge  pot  of  boiling  potatoes.  I  went  into  several 
of  those  places ;  but  they  were  so  much  alike,  even  to  the 
boiling  of  potatoes,  as  to  be  monotonous.  I  talked  with 
the  bar-tender  (who  was  every  time  a  woman),  and  found 
that  she  had  a  cousin  in  America  "  who  was  doing  well," 
but  not  so  well  now  as  formerly ;  which  led  the  speaker  to 
fear  that  the  States  would  s'oon  be  as  bad  as  any  country. 
A  gentleman  who  receives  money  sent  by  the  girls  and 
young  men  of  his  neighborhood  who  are  now  in  America, 
and  disburses  it  to  their  friends  at  home,  informs  me  that  he 
invariably  notices  a  gradual  falling-off"  in  the  amounts,  pro- 
portionate to  the  time  of  their  stay.  They  send  twice  as 
much  the  first  year  as  they  do  the  fifth,  and  as  much  again 
in  the  fifth  as  they  send  in  the  tenth  year.  In  some  cases 
the  remittance  had  died  out  entirely.  It  shows  what  a 
place  America  is  for  losing  money. 

Going  up  one  of  the  straggling  streets  which  led  into  the 
market-place,  a  sudden  shower  came  up  ;  and  I  stepped  into 
the  open  door  of  one  of  the  houses,  where  I  was  made 
heartily  welcome  by  the  inmates.  An  old  man  who  was  sit- 
ting by  the  fire,  smoking  a  pipe,  took  the  pipe  out  of  his 
mouth  at  once  ;  and  picking  up  his  stick,  which  stood  against 
the  jamb  of  the  fireplace,  he  dexterously  poked  a  hen  from 
the  back  of  the  only  whole  chair ;  and  the  old  woman,  his 
wife,  gave  it  a  dust  with  her  skirt,  and  placed  it  before  the 
fire  for  me. 

The  old  man  and  his  wife  had  gone  over  the  threescore- 
and-ten  mark,  and  were  resting  from  their  labors.  Their 
only  child,  a  daughter,  had  married  a  young  man  who 
worked  for  a  farmer  two  miles  distant  for  seven  sJiillings  a 


406  ENGLAND    FROM    A    IJACK-WINDOW. 

luci-k  ;  and  the  daughter  did  cleaning  and  other  odd  jobs  for 
the  gentry  famihes. 

And  this  young  man,  on  his  seven  shiUings  a  week,  freely 
divided  with  his  mother-in  law  and  her  husband ;  and  they 
both  spoke  of  him  with  a  pride  begotten  of  true  affection. 

The  room  was  not  a  large  one ;  but  it  was  kept  dry  by  the 
thatched  roof.  The  floor  was  of  earth,  worn  into  many 
hollows.  The  furniture  consisted  of  an  old-fashioned  clothes- 
press  which  reached  nearly  to  the  boarded  ceiling,  the 
chair  I  occupied,  a  broken  chair  which  the  old  lady  used, 
a  sort  of  box-bench  which  he  sat  on,  and  another  bench 
capable  of  holding  three  people.  There  was  a  clock  against 
the  wall,  and  a  table,  on  which  were  two  plates,  a  cracked 
teacup,  an  earthen  cup,  some  potato-peelings,  and  a  bit 
of  bread,  —  the  remnants  of  a  breakfast.  The  hen  which 
left  my  chair  squatted  discontentedly  under  the  table,  and 
eyed  me  moodily  during  my  stay.  There  were  two  more 
hens.  One  of  them  moved  around,  but  said  nothing ;  while 
the  other  dozed  on  the  window-seat. 

In  back  of  this  was  an  apartment  which  was  used  as  a 
bedroom ;  and  near  one  corner  of  the  living-room  was  a 
very  rough  ladder,  which  led  into  the  loft. 

The  old  people  were  glad  to  hear  I  was  from  America. 
To  them  it  was  a  sort  of  past  dream.  There  had  been  a 
time,  when  Mary  Ann  was  a  child,  that  they  thought  of  going 
over  to  the  wonderful  country  :  but  he  was  taken  down  with  a 
bad  cokl,  from  ditching  in  a  bog  for  Mr.  Clare ;  and  the 
weeks  of  sickness  consumed  their  savings,  and  broke  up 
their  enterprise.  But,  God  be  praised  !  he  was  saved  from 
the  door  of  death,  "  Warn't  ye,  Dani'l,  mon  ?  "  To  which 
he  promptly  affirmed. 

The  next  day  was  Sunday ;  and  a  very  pleasant  day  it  was, 
barrin' a  strong  wind.  I  went  to  the' Catholic  cathedral  in 
the  morning.  It  stood  in  enclosed  ground,  back  from  the 
street,  and  Wiis  approached  by  a  lane.     In  this  lane,  from 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  407 

the  gate  to  the  cathedral-grounds,  were  beggars.  Some  of 
them  were  in  sort  of  watch-houses  on  wheels,  with  their 
aflfliction  announced  over  the  top.  Others  had  no  physical 
trouble,  excepting  a  serious  appetite  ;  and  they  moved  around 
on  their  feet.     These  were  importunate  for  money. 

Beggars  are  shockingly  numerous  in  this  country.  In  my 
walk  about  town  Saturday,  I  encountered  nearly  two  dozen. 
One  of  them  was  a  man  with  his  nose  freshly  off,  —  so  freshly, 
that  it  was  bleeding  afresh  when  I  met  him.  I  shelled  out 
at  once,  and  departed  without  waiting  for  the  usual  blessing. 
Another  had  his  legs  twisted  about  each  other ;  still  another 
had  the  lower  half  of  his  right  arm  grown  back  on  the  upper 
half;  and  one  woman  had  lost  the  greater  part  of  her  face 
through  a  cancerous  trouble.  I  never  stopped  to  argue  with 
those  people.  The  beggars  in  the  cathedral  lane  did  not 
get  violently  rich  that  morning. 

One  old  woman  said  to  another  old  woman,  — 

'•'  Did  ye  get  any  thin'  the  mornin'  ?  " 

"  Divil  a  ha'pinny  !  "  murmured  the  other  in  a  hushed 
voice. 

A  troop  of  beggars  is  not  what  one  generally  hankers  for 
when  skirmishing  around  for  scenery ;  but,  while  he  may 
pardon  them  for  their  pauperism,  he  cannot,  if  he  be  in  the 
least  sensitive,  listen  to  their  wholesale  use  of  holy  names 
without  shivering. 

I  have  heard  drunken  women,  with  blackened  eyes  and 
bloated  faces,  direct  holy  beings  where  to  bestow  their 
blessings  in  case  of  a  donation,  and  cursing  like  mad  if 
the  coveted  prizes  were  not  secured. 

And  those  who  are  really  in  want,  and  are  really  helpless, 
sit  at  home,  and  star\'e. 

The  more  prosperous  classes  seem  to  be  divided  in  their 
view  of  the  beggars,  but  are  united  in  condemning  the 
practice.  The  Irish  are  fully  as  generous  as  they  are  reputed 
to  be,  and  the  beggars  are  fortunate  in  their  location. 


408  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

One  old  woman,  who  squeezed  a  few  pennies  from  me  by 
her  jjlaintive  story  and  neat  appearance,  was  indignantly 
rcl)uked  by  a  resident  of  Tuam  (a  stranger  to  me),  who 
charged  her  with  having  more  money  in  the  bank  than  any 
one  Tuamite  can  boast. 

At  that  she  went  for  him,  but  not  in  a  plaintive  way. 

^Vhen  I  looked  out  of  my  window  in  the  morning,  I  was 
somewhat  perplexed  by  seeing  several  apple-peddlers  on  the 
corner  opposite.  I  had  the  impression  that  it  was  Sunday  ; 
but  I  began  to  doubt,  on  seeing  this  display  of  mercantile 
activity  in  a  civilized  country.  Towards  noon,  I  saw  that 
corner,  and  the  one  next  to  it,  filled  up  with  peddlers ;  and, 
on  moving  about  through  the  few  streets,  I  found  several 
groceries,  vegetable-stalls,  and  the  like,  doing  business. 
They  were  probably  kept  open  in  case  of  sudden  sickness, 
as  is  the  case  with  cigar-stores  and  barber-shops  in  America. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  I  walked  into  the  suburbs,  and 
witnessed  a  very  exciting  game  of  football. 

If  I  was  surprised  at  the  sight  which  greeted  me  on 
looking  out  of  my  bedroom-window  on  Sunday  morning,  I 
was  dumfounded  by  that  which  greeted  my  eyes  as  I  cast 
them  over  the  market-place  on  Monday  morning.  It  had 
rained  in  the  night,  and  the  pavement  was  muildy ;  but  the 
sun  shone  bright  and  clear.  There  were  but  few  people  in 
sight ;  and  nearly  all  of  them  were  intently  obsen-ing  a  man 
in  a  suit  of  frieze  clothes,  who  was  hobbling  on  his  knees 
from  one  corner  to  another  of  a  street  which  came  into  the 
market-place,  opposite  the  hotel.  His  pants  were  pulled  up 
above  the  knees,  and  the  bare  flesh  came  in  contact  with  the 
gritty  mud.  Those  who  observed  him  maintained  a  re- 
spectful distance,  but  watched  him  closely.  I  didn't  know 
what  to  make  of  him.  From  seeing  him  on  his  bare  knees, 
I  concluded  he  was  a  cripple,  under  the  influence  of  liquor. 
He  made  his  way  with  great  difficulty  across  to  the  opposite 
corner.     Then  he  got  upon  his  feet,  and  walked  across  the 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  409 

angle  of  the  sidewalk  to  the  pavement  again,  pulled  up  his 
l)ants,  got  down  on  his  knees,  and  started  across  the  square 
on  his  painful  way.  Then  I  saw  that  he  was  neither  drunk 
nor  crippled.  Then  I  knew  what  he  was  up  to  :  he  was 
doing  a  penance.  And  still  I  watched  him.  The  crowd 
rapidly  augmented,  which  surprised  me ;  for  I  thought  pen- 
ances of  the  kind  were  common  here. 

When  he  got  two-thirds  across  the  place,  a  policeman 
appeared,  and  stopped  him.  The  crowd,  which  was  now 
quite  large,  pressed  about  the  two.  The  object  of  all  the 
excitement  seemed  inclined  to  carry  out  his  purpose ;  but 
the  policeman  made  him  rise,  and  drop  down  his  pants,  and 
"  move  off." 

When  I  got  down  to  breakfast,  I  "  dropped  "  on  the  waiter 
for  the  particulars  ;  but,  although  a  singularly  communicative 
individual,  he  had  nothing  to  say  on  this  topic,  except  that 
he  thought  the  man,  whoever  he  might  be,  was  a  "  d — d 
fool."  A  curate  of  the  Church  of  Ireland  was  my  fellow- 
guest  at  the  hotel ;  and,  when  he  came  down  to  breakfast,  I 
pounced  on  him  ;  but  he  laughed  at  me,  and  said  I  was  joking 
him.  And  as  for  my  penance  theory,  he  scouted  it  at  once. 
I  inquired  of  others  about  town ;  but  I  could  get  no  satis- 
faction. They  had  not  seen  the  man,  and  were  sure  that  he 
was  either  drunk  or  a  cripple.  Pretty  soon  I  ceased  to  be 
anxious  for  some  one  who  could  explain  to  me  what  the  man 
was  doing,  and  began  to  look  around  for  somebody  who  had 
seen  him.  But  I  was  not  successful  in  even  this.  I  spent  the 
evening  with  a  genial  Irish  family,  and,  watching  my  opportu- 
nity, late  in  the  evening  broached  the  matter  which  lay 
heaviest  on  my  mind.  But  again  I  was  disappointed.  Every 
one  of  the  party  had  something  to  say  about  it ;  but,  beyond 
concurring  in  the  opinion  held  by  the  waiter,  they  could  give 
me  no  satisfaction. 

I  refer  to  this  family  because  they  particularly  pleased  me, 
and  were  just  such  a  whole-souled,  hospitable,  fun-loving 


4IO  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

house  as  has  often  attracted  me  in  the  writings  of  Charles 
Lover,  The  head  of  the  house  was  a  sufferer  from  gout,  of 
course.  The  lady  was  matronly,  courteous,  and  graceful ; 
and  the  stalwart  sons  and  fair  daughter  were  most  genial 
companions.  The  guests  were  gentlemen  from  Dublin  to 
attend  the  fair  on  the  next  day.  It  was  one  of  the  most 
delightful  evenings  in  my  remembrance ;  and  I  shall  always 
bear,  from  this  and  other  occasions  in  Ireland,  a  pleasant 
memory  of  its  good-natured,  kind-hearted,  and  hospitable 
people. 

They  wanted  me  to  stay  in  Galway  till  I  saw  an  Irish 
funeral,  and  tried  to  describe  to  me  the  wild  cry  which  the 
friends  sent  up  on  the  occasion.  But  I  went  around  among 
the  people,  and  looked  upon  them ;  but,  as  none  of  them 
appeared  at  all  likely  to  die  very  soon,  I  concluded  not  to 
wait.  They  thought  I  should  see  a  wake,  and  were  very 
much  surprised  to  learn  that  I  had  already  participated  in 
one  in  my  own  country.  They  didn't  think  the  people 
would  be  so  insane  as  to  carry  that  practice  into  the  new 
world  ;  which,  in  turn,  rather  opened  my  eyes  ;  for  I  tliought 
wakes  were  popular  with  the  Irish.  But  I  learn  that  they 
are  dying  out  here,  as  the  upper  classes  and  many  of  the 
clergy  are  opposed  to  them. 

But  I  was  speaking  of  the  waiter  as  being  communicative. 
Me  is  willing  to  lay  himself  out  on  almost  any  subject ;  but 
the  people  of  Tuam  seemed  to  engross  his  most  earnest 
attention.  He  came  from  Dublin,  and  had  been  at  this 
place  about  a  fortnight.  He  understood  when  he  came  that 
it  was  a  good  berth  for  him  ;  but  his  experience  illustrates  a 
peculiar  style  of  employing  in  the  kingdom,  to  which,  I 
think,  I  have  previously  alluded. 

When  he  got  there,  he  found  that  his  salary  was  to  come 
from  the  guests,  and  that  he  was  to  be  himself  at  the  expense 
of  washing  the  tal)le-linen,  or  napkins,  and  of  hiring  any 
assistance  he  might  recjuire.     As  myself  and  the  curate  were 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW,  4I  I 

the  only  guests  at  the  time,  I  thought  that  his  chances  looked 
mighty  slim,  —  a  view  that  he  indorsed  with  vehement  pro- 
fanity. 

But  the  fair  was  coming  on,  and  the  house  would  be 
crowded  with  people  ;  and  he  conveyed,  through  the  channel 
of  various  winks,  and  contortions  of  the  face  and  fingers, 
that  he  would  line  his  pockets  on  that  occasion,  and  depart 
forthwith. 

He  gave  me  to  understand  this  several  hundred  times 
during  the  period  I  enjoyed  his  company. 

But  he  was  down  on  Tuam  and  Tuam  people,  and  never 
missed  an  opportunity  for  consigning  them  to  foreign  parts. 
I  thought  he  would  actually  strangle,  one  evening,  when  I 
incidentally  inquired  if  Dublin  was  as  finely  a  laid  out  city  as 
Tuam. 

The  next  morning  was  to  be  the  first  day  of  the  fair. 
Early  on  Monday  afternoon  the  buyers  commenced  to  flock 
into  the  village.  Every  bedroom  was  doubled,  trebled,  and 
even  quadrupled,  in  its  resources.  I  was  changed  from  my 
room  to  one  which  had  five  narrow  beds  crowded  into  it. 
But  the  curate  took  compassion  upon  me,  and  had  an  extra 
bed  made  up  in  his  little  room  for  my  accommodation.  He 
thought  he  was  to  keep  his  sitting-room.  But,  as  night  came 
on,  so  did  Riley,  the  "  boots,"  behind  a  mountain  of  bed- 
ding ;  and  the  little  sitting-room  was  speedily  metamor- 
phosed into  accommodations  for  a  half-dozen  persons. 

Poor  Riley !  All  the  afternoon  his  name  resounded 
through  the  passages  3  and  Riley,  heated  and  perspiring,  was 
everywhere  in  sight. 

"  Sure,  ma'am,"  I  overheard  him  protest  in  a  despairing 
voice  to  the  head  chambermaid,  —  "sure,  ma'am,  I'm  not  a 
crab,  that  I  should  be  all  legs." 

As  I  fell  away  into  sleep  at  midnight,  a  stentorian  voice 
came  up  the  stairway,  — 

" Riley,  Riley  !     Where  are  ye,  man? " 


412  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

And  tlie  next  morning,  at  daylight,  the  voice  of  Riley  was 
heard  in  the  passage,  trying  to  force  his  voice  up  to  the  next 
floor. 

"  Mistress  Clare  !  Mistress  Clare  !  ye  are  wanted  at  wanst 
in  the  kitcheen."  The  next  moment  he  came  in  with  the 
hot  water,  and  stopped  to  mention  that  he  had  not  touched 
a  foot  to  the  bed  the  entire  night. 

It  was  this  morning  of  the  fair  that  the  landlord,  a  pleasant 
gentleman,  came  to  me  and  said  he  had  heard  that  I  was 
in([uiring  about  a  man  who  had  walked  on  his  knees  across 
the  market-place.  He  had  been  a  witness  of  the  spectacle, 
and  had  made  inquiries  about  it.  The  man  had  done  it  to 
fulfil  the  conditions  of  a  penance  ;  but  he  was  a  simple 
countryman,  and  did  not  know  any  better. 

That's  so,  undoubtedly ;  but  I  couldn't  help  admiring  the 
courage  of  a  man  who  would  thus  publicly  humiliate  himself 
in  repentance.  We  are  apt  to  admire  in  others  those  quali- 
ties of  which  we  are  destitute  ourselves. 

It  rained,  or  rather  drizzled,  all  day  of  the  first  of  the  fair. 
The  landlord  directed  me  to  the  place  where  it  was  to  be 
held,  —  "a  beautiful  green,"  he  said. 

I  worked  my  way  out  there  at  once.  All  through  the 
street  were  droves  of  sheep,  with  men,  women,  boys,  and 
girls  driving  them.  There  were  also  sheep  in  pens  mounted 
on  wheels.  This  was  the  sheep  day.  I  reached  the  square 
all  right,  —  an  enclosure  of  some  twenty  acres.  All  over  its 
face  were  flocks  of  sheep,  barking  dogs,  hallooing  men  and 
boys,  and  cunning  speculators.  I  got  into  the  enclosure  to 
the  distance  of  about  thirty  feet,  and  there  I  stuck.  It  was 
a  sea  of  mud,  with  islands  of  sheep,  and  shoals  of  humans. 
It  may  have  been  a  green  the  day  before  ;  but  there  was  not 
a  spear  of  grass  observable  in  any  direction,  —  all  muJ,  mud, 
MUD! 

I  went  back  to  the  hotel,  paid  my  bill,  clutched  my  valise 
with  a  nervous  grasp,  and  slarteil  for  the  station. 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  413 

And  this  is  a  fair,  — a  mere  sale  day.  This  was  sheep-fair 
day,  for  the  sale  of  sheep  ;  to-morrow  cattle-fair  day,  for  the 
sale  of  cattle ;  and  day  after  to-morrow  pig-fair  day,  for  the 
sale  of  pigs. 

Thus  do  traditions  vanish,  and  thus  does  history  shrivel. 


414  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 


CHAFFER  XLVIII. 


OWNING   A   WHOLE   GRAVEYARD. 


ON  my  way  from  Tuam  to  Limerick,  I  stopped  over  at 
Athenry  for  several  hours.  To  look  at  the  place,  you 
would  think  it  had  not  a  population  of  five  hundred  ;  but  in 
1S71  it  contained  twelve  hundred  people.  I  understand  it 
has  not  fallen  away  much  since  then. 

I  carried  a  letter  of  introduction  to  a  gentleman  in 
Athenry,  the  manager  of  a  mill. 

It  seems  as  though  you  could  walk  all  over  Athenn,',  and 
touch  every  house,  in  a  half-hour.  It  is  composed  mostly  of 
one-story  stone  houses  roofed  with  straw  and  earth.  The 
village  lies  in  low  ground,  and  on  this  rainy  afternoon  it 
seemed  to  be  fairly  wallowing  in  mud.  There  was  but  one 
street,  with  branching  lanes  and  courts,  but  little  attempt  at 
sidewalks,  and  still  less  at  road  pavements.  Standing  on  the 
walls  of  its  ruined  castle,  and  looking  about  over  the  soggy, 
stony,  and  treeless  surrounding  country,  one  might  be  par- 
doned for  inquiring  how  the  Athenry  people  manage  to  exist. 
He  would  have  certainly  wondered  how  any  man  in  gooil 
circumstances  could  come  to  reside  there.  Every  feature 
of  the  place  was  depressing. 

P.ut  home  is  home  wherever  you  may  locate  it.  Beneath 
those  sod  roofs  were  love  and  jjatience,  and  envy  ami  hope, 
and  jawing  and  scolding,  just  the  same  as  in  the  homes  of 
aflluence. 


ENGLAND    FROM    A-  BACK-WINDOW.  415 

'Way  off,  thousands  and  thousands  of  miles  from  here,  are 
hearts  that  turn  night  and  day  to  thee,  thou  muddy  and 
forlorn  Athenry,  and  yearn  for  thee  with  all  the  intensity  the 
human  bosom  is  capable  of.  Athenry  was  once  a  walled 
city,  and  the  home  of  a  king.  This  was  when  Connaught 
was  a  country  by  itself,  and  the  last  king  occupied  the  castle 
which  is  in  ruins  here  now. 

He  was  the  last  king.  Five  hundred  years  ago  he  fought 
with  the  English,  and  was  defeated  and  killed.  That  put  an 
end  to  the  glory  of  Athenry,  and  knocked  the  legs  from  the 
kingdom  of  Connaught.  Part  of  the  walls  of  the  place  still 
remain,  and  one  of  its  gateways.  Pieces  of  the  wall  appear 
here  and  there  in  field  and  garden,  and  even  as  a  fraction 
of  some  house,  the  builder  economizing  it  in  the  structure. 

Then  there  are  the  four  walls  of  the  castle,  with  a  portion 
of  the  wall  which  was  about  that ;  and  even  the  indentation 
of  the  moat  still  remains. 

The  castle  was  about  forty  feet  square,  and  about  fifty  feet 
high.  The  first  floor  still  remains,  it  being  formed  by  the 
massive  arches  which  make  the  cellar.  My  friend  took  me 
down  into  the  cellar,  the  floor  of  which  was  scarcely  four  feet 
below  the  earth's  surface.  In  addition  to  milling,  he  did  a 
little  in  agricultural  implements ;  and  he  had  several  reapers 
stowed  away  here,  the  building  being  on  ground  he  rented. 
I  was  glad  to  see  these  reapers  here,  it  looked  so  natural.  I 
never  yet  saw  a  deserted  old  building  in  a  country  village 
which  did  not  have  some  sort  of  agricultural  machinery 
stowed  away  within  it.  There  had  been  hens  here,  too,  in 
this  castle  of  a  king  ;  and  they  had  roosted  on  those  reapers, 
as  was  quite  evident.  Hens  are  very  fond  of  new  machinery 
and  fancy  sleighs  for  roosting-purposes. 

My  companion  showed  me  how  he  could  put  a  roof  on 
the  walls  at  a  small  expense,  and  without  interfering  with  them 
at  all,  which  would  give  him  the  first  floor  for  a  store-room ; 
but  the  people  of  Athenry  would  not  allow  him.     It  was  his 


41 6       ENGLAND  FROM  A  RACK-WINDOW. 

own  property,  of  course,  as  he  had  a  lease  of  it ;  but  he 
(iidn't  care  to  run  counter  to  the  wishes  of  the  community  in 
which  he  was  a  resident.  They  didn't  want  to  see  the  place 
desecrated ;  and  although  the  greater  part  of  them  did  not 
have  a  whole  suit  of  clothing  to  their  backs,  and  rarely 
extended  their  bill  of  fare  beyond  potatoes  and  milk,  still 
they  took  an  interest  in  ruins,  and  knew  the  proprieties  of 
things. 

Another  interesting  ruin  in  Athenry  is  that  of  a  church. 
A  large,  fine  church  it  was,  several  hundred  years  ago ;  but 
only  the  walls  remain,  windowless  and  doorless.  The  church- 
yard is  one  mass  of  indistinguishable  graves. 

The  stones  from  the  walls  have  fallen  inside  and  outside 
of  the  structure ;  and,  between  them  and  the  briers,  it  was 
difficult  to  move  around. 

Inside  the  walls  were  several  very  fine  monuments,  and 
many  consisting  simply  of  prostrate  slabs,  covered  «-ith  a 
green  slime,  with  inscriptions. nearly  worn  away.  The  king 
himself,  who  died  in  defence  of  Athenry  and  Connaught,  is 
supposed  to  lie  here.  Then  there  were  the  graves  of  several 
noblemen.  Their  tombs  were,  as  I  have  said,  elaborate. 
One  of  them  was  of  beautiful  Itahan  marble,  exquisitely  cut 
in  that  fair  country.  How  oddly  out  of  place  it  appeared 
witliin  these  crumbling  walls,  and  among  the  fallen  masonry, 
ordinary  tombs,  and  flourishing  brambles  ! 

The  Du  Burgoies  and  Bermingham  families,  older  than 
the  eternal  hills  almost,  lie  buried  in  this  neglected  and 
dreary  place,  and  appear  to  be  proud  of  it. 

It  is  consecrated  ground,  you  know;  and,  however  dis- 
ordered and  unkempt  and  rubbishy  it  may  be,  it  is  still  a 
very  desirable  place  to  be  buried  in. 

But  there  is  one  thing  I  cannot  understand.  It  had  a 
walk  about  it,  and  a  locked  gate,  which  was  opened  to  us  by 
an  oKl  woman  who  possessed  the  key.  To  use  a  metaphor, 
she  had  drained  the  dregs  of  poverty,  and  was  now  picking 
her  teeth.     But  she  owned  this  place.       % 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  417 

"  Who  owns  this  place  ?  "  I  asked  my  companion  ;  for  I 
ahvays  like  to  vest  romance  with  a  little  of  the  practical. 
But  he  didn't  know.  He  had  a  ruin  of  his  own,  and  you 
would  have  thought  he  would  take  an  interest  in  those 
matters.  And  then  Athenry  is  but  a  hamlet,  and  he  an  old 
resident,  and  yet  not  know  who  owned  the  only  church 
ruin  in  his  own  place  !     I  began  to  feel  uneasy. 

"WTio  has  this  place  now,  granny?"  he  inquired  of  the 
old  woman  as  we  were  passing  through  the  gate. 

"  I  do,"  she  said. 

"  Ay,  you  have  the  keeping  of  it ;  but  who  owns  it  ?  " 

"  I  do,  I  tell  ye." 

I  stepped  around  and  took  a  look  at  her.  She  was  bare- 
headed, and  wore  a  patched  gown  and  coarse  shoes.  My 
eyes  protruded  so  far,  that  they  really  ached.  And  she,  so 
poor  that  she  did  not  have  a  whole  gown  to  her  back,  was 
the  sole  possessor  of  a  graveyard,  a  church,  and  the  graves 
of  the  nobility  !  She  went  on  and  explained  how  she  got  it. 
It  was  the  property  of  a  great  family,  and  the  family  became 
broken  up  and  scattered,  and  some  neighbors  took  posses- 
sion, and  in  time  became  likewise  scattered ;  and  then 
some  one  else  tacked  himself  to  it,  but,  finding  precious  little 
return  from  it,  gave  it  up  to  one  of  her  ancestors,  and  so  it 
came  to  her. 

Just  think  of  the  property  this  aged,  crooning  woman 
o\\Tied  !  I  became  so  bewildered  by  this  information,  that  I 
was  actually  obliged  to  rub  my  head  briskly  to  assure  myself 
that  I  was  really  awake.  But  my  companion  didn't  appear 
worked  up  at  all ;  and  as  for  the  proprietor  of  this  singular 
wealth,  she  was  not  proud  nor  overbearing,  but  walked  back 
of  us  as  quietly  as  if  she  were  not  the  owner  of  a  single  dead 
body,  to  say  nothing  of  a  church  and  a  fine  assortment  of 
tombstones.     She  even  accepted  a  shilling. 

I  should  like  to  see  her  inventory. 

When  I  became  sufficiently  composed  to   speak  with   a 


41 8  ENGLAND    FROM    A    DACK-WINDOW. 

Steady  voice,  I  asked  this  Athenry  gentleman  how  such 
things  could  possibly  exist. 

"Why,  who  would  want  the  place?"  he  asked  in  suqjrise. 
*'  I  am  sure  I  would  not  take  it  as  a  gift." 

"  I  know ;  but  just  bear  in  mind  that  it  is  a  graveyard,  and 
ought  to  come  under  sanitary  conditions.  Besides,  within 
repose  the  members  of  wealthy  families ;  and  how  is  it  they 
allow  the  possession  of  their  burial-place  to  remain  in  the 
hands  of  a  poverty-stricken  old  woman  ?  " 

"  Well,"  said  he  with  provoking  coolness,  "  I  don't  see 
any  thing  remarkable  about  it.  She  owns  it ;  but  people  can 
bury  there.  And  as  for  the  wealthy  families,  they  are  not 
here  ;  and  I  don't  know  as  it  makes  much  difference  to  them 
who  holds  the  key  to  the  gate." 

And' that  was  really  all  there  was  of  it;  but  to  this  day  I 
cannot  fully  comprehend  it.     Can  you  ? 

When  we  were  inside  the  roofless  sanctuary,  the  old  lady 
opened  a  door  recently  erected,  which  enclosed  a  little  cell. 
In  there  were  a  heap  of  human  bones.  Some  of  them  were 
white,  others  were  brown,  and  many  were  green.  Some  were 
whole  ;  but  the  most  of  them  were  decaying.  I  don't  know 
how  many  people,  or  how  many  grades  and  conditions  of 
life,  were  comprised  in  that  pile. 

In  a  commercial  point  of  view,  there  were,  it  is  safe  to 
say,  about  two  dollars'  worth  of  bones.  They  included  shin- 
bones,  thigh-bones,  ribs,  and  skulls.  They  had  been  ex- 
humed in  making  fresh  graves,  and  were  put  in  this  cell. 
The  door  was  built  to  give  a  sort  of  security  to  the  place. 
In  several  parts  of  the  building  I  saw  little  piles  of  these 
ghastly  mementos,  unprotected  by  any  door  from  the  hand 
of  man,  or  the  devastation  of  the  weather.  One-half  of  a 
skull,  looking  like  the  part  of  a  cocoanut-shell,  was  half  full 
of  rain-water,  with  an  inch  of  setUings  at  the  bottom,  and 
a  stray  leaf  from  a  tree  floating  on  the  surface.  I  wonder 
if  it  ever  occurred  to  the  owner  of  that  skull,  when  he  was 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  419 

going  about  Athenry,  proudly  displaying  its  contents,  that,  in 
the  course  of  revolving  years,  it  would  catch  rain-water  and 
earth  and  flying  leaves  in  a  roofless  church. 

And  who  can  tell  what  other  changes  are  in  store  for  this 
shell  to  a  once  active,  hopeful,  human  brain  ?  The  time  may 
come  when  some  prudent  housewife  will  take  it  to  her  home 
and  have  a  nice  handle  put  to  it,  and  use  it  for  baling  up 
soft-soap. 

I  left  the  village  with  genuine  pleasure,  I  had  seen  "so 
much  of  interest  in  it.  Being  a  trifle  behind  time,  I  hurried 
back  to  the  station,  to  make  sure  of  my  train.  But  there  was 
an  abundance  of  time.  That  was  the  occasion  when  the 
driver  of  the  trap  had  to  go  back  for  the  inspector,  as  re- 
lated in  a  former  chapter. 

The  two  hours  I  put  in  at  the  little  station,  expecting 
every  moment  to  leave,  and  not  doing  it,  were  hardly  agreea- 
ble ;  although  I  managed,  with  the  aid  of  a  pipe  and  turn- 
ing up  my  coat-collar  (for  it  was  a  damp,  drizzling,  chilly 
day),  to  work  off"  the  time. 

How  slowly  such  time  drags  along  !  and  how  anxiously  we 
watch  its  progress,  and  feel  a  desire  to  get  behind  it,  and 
give  it  a  good  push  ! 

We  have  such  an  abundance  of  time,  it  is  to  be  so  many, 
many  years  before  we  shall  be  called  hence,  that  we  can 
afford  to  get  out  of  patience  with  Time  for  not  speeding 
faster.  I  have  no  doubt,  that,  if  accurately  reckoned  up,  we 
wish  away  fully  one-half  of  our  lives. 

But  I  am  not  going  to  sermonize,  although  abundantly 
competent  to  do  so  :  I  am  merely  going  to  tell  you  an  inci- 
dent at  the  Athenry  station. 


420  ENGLAND    FROM    A    DACK-WINDOW. 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 


STARTING    FOR   AMERICA. 


IT  was  a  junction  of  three  roads  ;  and,  while  we  waited  for 
our  train,  several  others  came  and  departed.  One  of 
them,  which  went  to  Galway,  carried  away  two  buxom  girls 
of  between  twenty  and  tvventy-five  years  of  age.  They  had 
been  standing  on  the  platform  with  some  friends,  and  were 
noticeable  to  strangers  by  their  heavy  frieze  cloaks  and  scar- 
let skirts.  They  were  the  picturesque  women  of  Galway, 
and  had  come  over  to  Athenry  to  see  off  a  few  friends  who 
were  going  to  America.  As  the  train  was  about  to  start, 
they  took  a  convulsive  farewell  of  the  emigrants,  and  the 
emigrants  took  an  equally  convulsive  farewell  of  them.  The 
two  Galwegians  got  into  the  train,  and  tlirew  up  the  u-indow, 
and  put  out  their  heads,  and  clasped  the  voyagers  about 
their  necks,  and  cried  and  sobbed  as  if  their  hearts  were 
broken,  until  the  guard  and  porters  forced  them  apart,  to  ])cr- 
niit  the  train  to  go  on  its  way.  Then,  as  it  moved  away,  the 
women  of  Galway  waved  back  their  handkerchiefs,  and  sent 
up  a  wail  that  made  the  blood  stand  stiff  about  my  heart. 
Those  left  behind,  with  one  exception,  gave  an  agonizing 
response.  It  was  not  a  sharp  cry  of  pain,  nor  was  it  a 
sobbing,  but  it  seemed  to  be  a  melting  of  one  into  the 
other,  and  altogether  too  pathetic  to  fool  about  with  a 
description.  The  exception  was  a  young  girl  of  some  six- 
teen years,  a  neighbor  undoubtedly,  who,  not  liking  to  c  ry 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  42 1 

before  so  many  strangers,  laughed  instead,  and  tried  to  hide 
the  offence  beneath  the  Ught  shawl  she  had  wrapped  about 
her  head. 

The  party  left  on  the  platform  by  the  departure  of  this 
train  were  an  old  man,  his  two  sons  (one  about  thirty,  and 
the  oth^r  eighteen  years  of  age),  the  wife  of  the  older,  two 
daughters,  and  the  neighboring  girl  with  the  light  shawl. 
The  older  son  and  his  wife,  and  two  young  sisters,  were 
going  to  America, — four  out  of  a  family  of  six.  The  son 
was  a  stout  young  man,  homely  dressed  :  his  wife  had  no 
bonnet,  but  made  the  cape  of  her  cloak  answer  the  purpose. 
But  the  young  sisters  were  clothed  in  bright  red-and-yellow 
shawls,  which  made  up  in  color  what  they  lacked  in  warmth, 
and  blue  bonnets  trimmed  copiously  with  yellow  flowers. 
Poor  girls  !  they  were  going  to  a  great  country  from  Athenry, 
and  that  pride  which  is  peculiar  to  and  pardonable  in  their 
sex  could  not  bear  that  Athenry  should  be  meanly  thought 
of  in  foreign  lands.  And  so  the  bright  colors  and  the  colos- 
sal yellow  flowers  were  going  to  America  by  way  of  a  steer- 
age passage ;  and  I  thought  of  that,  and  the  consequent 
trailing  of  the  plumes  in  the  dark  hold  of  a  tossing  vessel ; 
and  I  did  wish  that  somebody  could  have  told  them  all 
about  it  before  they  made  their  purchases. 

They  were  to  take  the  train  with  myself  going  to  Limer- 
ick. As  the  time  came  for  their  getting  aboard,  the  grief  of 
both  parties  became  intense.  They  clasped  each  other 
to  their  breasts,  and  cried  most  pitifully.  Going  away  to 
America,  going  thousands  of  miles  apart,  —  a  family  that  had 
grown  up  together  for  years  with  never  a  thought  of  sepa- 
ration. It  was  hard  all  around  ;  but  it  was  the  hardest  upon 
the  one  the  least  able  to  bear  it,  —  the  poor  old  man,  so  poor 
and  thin,  that  it  seemed  as  if  the  shaqD  air  would  cut  through 
him.  But  he  did  not  lift  up  his  voice  :  he  simply  kept  walk- 
ing about,  and  presssing  his  hands  tightly  together.     His 


422  ENGLAND    FROM    A    nACK-WINDOW. 

was  not  pain  :  it  was  simply  a  dull,  dead  despair.  I  won- 
dered if  he  thought  of  the  dances  and  frolics  where  he  won 
the  girl  who  bore  him  these  children,  who  grew  wan  and  thin 
with  him,  and  finally  sank  to  her  rest ;  and  if  he  thought  of 
them,  and  then  looked  on  this  scene,  which  was  the  bitter 
climax  of  his  life's  aspirations  and  ambitions,  what  must  be 
the  sensations  under  which  his  brain  throbbed  ?  But  what 
is  this  parting,  with  its  excitement,  to  the  feelings  which  will 
come  to  them  when  the  dear  old  land  lies  thousands  of 
miles  away?  And  what  is  this  parting,  with  its  hurry  and 
bustle,  to  those  left  behind,  to  the  desolation  which  will 
meet  them  at  the  threshold  of  the  broken  home  ?  Perhaps 
the  old  man  is  thinking  of  this,  and  can  vividly  see  the 
disordered  room,  the  fragments  of  the  last  and  almost 
untouched  meal,  the  vacant  chair,  and  that  indescribable 
vacuum  which  awaits  his  return  from  the  station. 

He  may  have  been  thinking  of  this  when  he  drew  back 
from  the  others,  and  stood  at  the  corner  of  the  station-build- 
ing, as  the  train  moved  away,  and  wrung  his  hands  in  such 
an  agony  of  distress,  that  it  drowned  the  wail  of  the  others, 
and  left  only  that  white,  distorted  face  reflected  upon  the 
mind. 

"  Father,  father ! "  shouted  the  first-born  in  a  broken 
voice,  "  all  that  I  ask  of  ye  is  that  ye  live  till  I  come  back. 
That's  just  what  I  ask  of  ye,"  he  continued,  with  a  feeble 
attempt  to  be  exultant. 

Come  back?  Of  course.  It  is  not  the  going  away  that 
the  departing  care  to  dwell  upon,  except  in  their  very  secret 
thoughts  :  it  is  of  the  coming  back  that  they  talk ;  it  is  the 
coming  back  to  which  they  strive  hopefully  but  hopelessly 
to  bring  the  attention  of  the  unfortunately  left  behind. 

But  the  old  man  did  not  hear  it.  He  made  no  response  : 
no  cry  escajjed  him.  "  As  a  sheep  before  her  shearers  is 
dumb,  so  he  opened  not  his  mouth." 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  423 

God  help  him,  and  all  fathers  and  mothers  in  this  land  — 
the  land  of  parting  —  who  are  called  upon  to  give  up  their 
hearts'  treasures,  to  have  their  souls  riven  with  pain  on  the 
very  verge  of  the  grave  !  Theirs  is  a  grief  for  which  Nature 
can  furnish  no  antidote, — the  dry  grief  of  despair. 


424  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 


CHAPTER  L. 


A  TREATISE   ON   LIMERICK. 


WE  reached  Limerick  late  in  the  evening ;  and  I  got 
down  there  to  stay  over  one  day  to  look  at  the 
place.  I  was  very  much  attached  to  Limerick  through  the 
medium  of  one  of  Moore's  songs.  I  forget  the  name  ;  but 
one  line  made  such  an  impression  upon  me,  that  I  remember 
it  well.     It  was,  — 

"  Oh  !  I'm  the  boy  from  Limerick." 

That  is  the  reason  that  I  stopped  at  Limerick.  I  took 
such  an  interest  in  the  young  fellow,  that  I  wanted  to  see  the 
place  where  he  hung  out,  —  his  place  of  abode,  as  it  were. 

I  was  pleased  with  Limerick,  and  delighted  with  its  hotel. 
The  city  is  composed  of  two"  distinct  parts,  —  the  old  and 
the  new.  There  has  been  no  particular  effort  to  improve 
the  old  city,  the  Limerickers  preferring  to  lay  out  their  mon- 
ey in  building  anew  :  consequently  they  have  plenty  of  good 
city  to  take  friends  over,  and  create  a  good  impression.  In 
the  new  city  the  principal  street  is  George, — a  straight,  broad 
avenue,  with  many  handsome  stores.  And  speaking  of  their 
stores  reminds  me,  that,  since  being  in  Ireland,  I  have  been 
much  interested  and  amused  by  the  j)eculiar  contrasts  jire- 
sentcd  at  tlie  dry-goods  establishments.  For  instance,  take 
the  store  opjiosite  the  hotel.  It  has  a  massive  front  of  jilate 
glass,   is  high  in  ceiling,  faaely  furnished,  and  attractively 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  425 

arranged.  Into  this  store  will  pass  a  lady  in  satin  and  seal- 
skin. Her  carriage  stands  at  the  door.  There  goes  in  one 
who  is  bare-headed,  and  even  bare-footed ;  and,  if  you  should 
enter  yourself,  you  will  find  both  trading  at  the  same  coun- 
ter, and  both  waited  on  by  nobby  clerks  with  hair  parted  in 
the  middle. 

Foster  Green,  at  Belfast,  with  his  splendid  establishment, 
sells  groceries  as  cheap  as  the  homeliest  place  on  the  back- 
est  of  back-streets ;  and  so  the  bare-footed  and  bare-headed 
like  to  trade  there.  And  I  imagine  from  that,  and  from  see- 
ing the  lower  classes  flock  in  here  and  similar  places,  that 
the  dry-goods  establishments  are  conducted  on  the  same 
principle.  It  is  much  different  in  our  country,  where  the 
rent  is  allowed  to  influence  the  price,  and  where  first-class 
stores  do  not  care  to  bicker  with  third-class  customers,  nor 
have  them  and  their  old  and  soiled  clothing  in  the  place. 

In  every  nation  that  I  know  any  thing  about,  there  is  a 
class  of  people  who  will  fight  the  price  of  a  dealer  inch  by 
inch.  I  don't  know  that  the  Irish  have  more  of  this  element 
than  any  other  country ;  but  they  are  certainly  well  cursed 
\vith  it,  and  get  full  credit  for  what  they  have,  if  not  more. 
Knowing  this,  I  have  enjoyed  seeing  one  of  these  Irish  men 
or  women  wTangle  ^\'ith  his  or  her  own  countr}'men.  At  a 
store  in  Tuam,  an  old  woman  said  to  the  dealer,  of  whom  she 
had  asked  the  price  of  tea,  — 

"  Musha,  Mr.  Hogan,  ye  have  a  heart  of  stone." 

"  Do  you  think  I  could  be  giving  ye  the  tea  after  paying 
my  money  for  it?  "  he  demanded  with  some  indignation. 

"  We'll  let  ye  alone  for  the  giving.  Mister  Hogan.  Sure, 
any  sack  would  do  that  come  here  for  firee  male,"  retorted 
the  old  hag  with  a  chuckle. 

"  Any  one  to  hear  ye  talk.  Mistress  Quinn,"  said  the  exas- 
perated grocer,  "  would  think  that  good  tea  was  clover,  that 
might  be  had  for  the  plucking." 

"An'  I'm  not  sure  that  it's  not  clover,"  was  the  bold 
retort.     Tliis  was  the  opportunity  to  leave,  and  I  left. 


426  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

It  is  Greek  meeting  (ireek ;  and  anybody  who  may  have 
clerked  in  a  Yankee  grocery  would  enjoy  it  as  I  do. 

The  old  part  of  Limerick  is  decidedly  dilapidated.  Why, 
many  of  its  crazy  tenements  arc  actually  falling  down  ;  and 
ivy,  which  is  not  a  proud  plant,  is  growing  over  the  broken 
walls.  Many  of  the  streets  are  narrow,  crooked,  dirty,  and 
bad-smelling.  In  going  through  one  of  them,  I  saw  an  old 
man  cobbling  shoes.  He  was  seated  on  a  stool,  with  his  back 
against  a  building.  The  nails  and  general  paraphernalia  of 
his  trade  were  in  a  little  box  on  the  pavement  by  him.  A  bit 
of  bagging  stretched  on  two  sticks  set  on  the  windward  side 
of  him  to  protect  him  from  its  inclemency.  This  shelter  was 
about  twenty  inches  square,  and  must  have  afforded  a  great 
deal  of  comfort.  He  was  a  very  old  man,  but  busy.  I  asked 
him  how  much  rent  he  paid.  He  said  that  he  occupied  the 
pavement  without  cost ;  and,  in  answer  to  another  question, 
thought  he  was  safe  in  placing  the  figure  of  his  average  earn- 
ings at  a  shilling  a  day.  When  it  rained  very  hard,  he  put 
his  place  of  business  under  his  arm,  and  scudded  around 
into  an  adjoining  area. 

I  gave  him  a  few  particulars  about  the  humble  origin  of 
Horace  Greeley,  Franklin,  and  Blind  Tom,  and  then  left  him 
to  peg  away. 

The  old  town  contains,  in  addition  to  this  cobbler,  the  old 
cathedral  and  a  fortified  castle, 

I  didn't  go  into  the  old  cathedral.  I  went  into  the  yard, 
and  incurred  the  dislike  of  the  keeper  by  incidentally  ob- 
serxing  that  the  church  was  altogether  too  modem  for  my 
cultivated  tastes. 

It  has  a  chime  of  eight  bells.  The  waiter  at  the  hotel 
told  me  an  incident  in  connection  therewith.  Many  centu- 
ries ago,  a  wealthy  and  ])ious  Italian  had  eight  bells  cast  for 
a  church  in  Rome.  They  were  vested  by  some  saint  with 
a  i)eruliar  sweet  tone  which  no  mechanical  skill  couUl  aj)- 
jjroach,     liut  wars  came  upon  Italy,  and  the   church  was 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  427 

robbed  of  its  beautiful  bells.  The  wealthy  and  pious  Italian 
felt  inconsolable  over  the  loss.  He  sold  his  property  at  auc- 
tion, neglected  to  shave  and  to  change  his  linen,  and  wan- 
dered forth  upon  the  world  in  quest  of  the  beloved  chimes. 
Years  after,  in  passing  up  the  Shannon  on  a  vessel,  prome- 
nading the  deck,  and  brooding  over  his  great  loss,  the  bells 
in  the  steeple  of  Limerick  Cathedral  sounded  forth  in  the 
evening  chimes.  The  bells  were  brought  from  Italy  by  some 
filibuster,  and  they  were  the  very  bells  which  this  wanderer 
had  sacrificed  home  and  pleasure  to  see.  At  their  first  sound 
he  threw  up  his  arms,  and  fell  dead  of  broken  heart  upon  the 
deck.  This  was  the  waiter's  story ;  and,  when  he  ceased,  he 
lifted  the  napkin,  and  brushed  a  tear  from  his  eye.  A  stiff- 
looking  gentleman,  whom  I  judged  to  be  a  lawyer,  was  sit- 
ting opposite  me,  but  apparently  took  no  interest  in  the 
narrative  until  its  conclusion.  Then  he  started  up,  and 
said,  — 

"  Do  I  understand  you  to  say  that  the  party  from  Italy 
fell  dead?" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  the  waiter  with  a  sigh. 

"Was  —  was  there  an  inquest?  " 

"A  —  a wha  —  that  is —  I  mean  —  I'm  sure  I  don't  know, 
sir,"  spluttered  the  narrator  in  bewilderment. 

"Then,  sir,"  said  the  stiff  gentleman  with  some  severity, 
"  how  are  you  able  to  state  with  any  confidence  that  the 
deceased  met  his  death  from  a  broken  heart,  in  the  absence 
of  any  evidence  that  a  thorough  investigation  into  the  causes 
of  his  untimely  death  had  been  conducted  before  proper 
authorities?" 

The  waiter  bolted  at  once. 

As  for  the  Shannon,  I  hardly  know  what  to  say  of  it.  It 
is  a  river,  a  SAvift-rolling  river,  whose  waters  are  of  that 
color  attained  by  standing  water  in  slaughter-house  yards ; 
and  that  is  the  most  graphic  description  of  the  Shannon  that 
I  have  yet  seen. 


428  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

There  are  a  number  of  manufactures  in  Limerick ;  but  the 
most  important  is  the  making  of  lace.  I  judge  this  merely 
from  the  fact  that  the  visitor  is  waylaid  every  few  yards  on 
the  street  by  a  bare-footed  woman,  and  importuned  to  buy  a 
lace  handkerchief  which  she  extends  in  her  hand. 

I  met  them  outside  the  door  of  the  hotel,  and  even  in  the 
hall.  One  of  them  followed  me  into  the  coffee-room.  This 
was  too  much.  I  seized  a  carving-knife,  and,  brandishing  it 
above  my  head  as  I  had  seen  people  do  in  Sunday-school 
books,  I  shouted,  — 

"  Woman  !  one  step  nearer  with  that  rag,  and  I'll  plunge 
this  blade  into  your  detestable  body  !  " 

She  sighed,  and  turned  away,  saying,  "  An'  such  a  purty 
nose  as  he  has  !  " 

"Woman,"  said  I  in  a  softened  voice,  —  for  suffering  almost 
melts  me,  —  "  here's  a  shilling." 

At  the  station,  on  my  departure,  there  were  a  half-dozen 
of  them,  each  armed  with  a  lace  handkerchief,  and  each 
determined  to  sell  it.  I  can't  imagine  any  thing  that  will 
tend  to  awaken  a  man's  interest  in  the  manufacture  of  lace 
as  much  as,  in  getting  out  of  a  train  in  a  hurry  to  secure  a 
glass  of  ale,  to  run  against  a  lace-seller  who  is  bound  to  dis- 
pose of  a  handkerchief.  I  saw  a  man  do  that  as  I  waited 
for  my  train.  He  was  a  verj'  heavy  man.  The  woman  put 
up  her  hand  at  first  to  show  him  the  handkerchief;  but,  learn- 
ing his  momentum  as  if  by  inspiration,  she  at  once  threw  up 
both  hands  to  save  herself;  but  it  was  too  late.  He  caught 
one  of  her  hands  on  his  face ;  the  nails  thereof  ploughed 
across  his  nose  and  forehead  :  the  other  caught  him  in  the 
pit  of  the  stomach. 

In  that  shape  they  both  went  off  the  platform,  and  down 
on  the  rails.  The  porters  jumped  after  them  at  once ;  but 
the  woman  got  on  her  feet  ahead  of  them,  and,  rubbing  her 
head,  moved  away  in  blank  astonishment.  The  old  gentle- 
man was  helped  upon  the  platform,  but  with  great  difficulty, 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  429 

as  he  thought  he  had  been  struck  by  an  express-train,  and 
could  hardly  realize  that  both  of  his  legs  had  not  been  taken 
off.  When  he  did  get  fairly  up,  and  learned  what  had  really 
happened,  and  that  it  was  too  late  to  get  the  ale,  a  mighty 
revulsion  of  feeling  suddenly  set  in,  and  he  looked  around 
for  that  woman  with  a  cold-blooded  ferocity  that  was  dread- 
ful to  contemplate. 

Five  minutes  later,  I  was  on  my  way  to  Killamey. 


430  ENGLAND    FROM    A    DACK-WINDOW. 


CHAPTER    LI. 


BLASPHEMING  MENDICANTS. 


FROM  Limerick  the  train  went  to  Charley\-ille,  about 
forty  miles,  where  we  waited  an  hour  for  the  DubUn 
train.  It  was  a  cold  wait,  as  Charleyville  is  on  a  plain,  and 
the  station  is  in  an  exposed  place,  where  the  wind  swept 
across  it  without  hinderance.  But  I  was  expecting  my 
friend  the  major,  whose  company  I  enjoyed  at  Belfast ;  and 
so  I  walked  briskly  up  and  down  the  platform,  and  destroyed 
two  cigars  with  comparative  ease. 

At  last  the  Dublin  train  came  in,  and  with  it  the  major, 
who  was  going  with  me  to  Killarney.  He  hadn't  seen  the 
lakes  in  ten  years,  and  longed  for  a  sight  of  what  he  claimed 
to  be  one  of  the  most  beautiful  spots  on  the  face  of  the 
globe. 

"  Faith,  old  man,"  he  obser\'ed,  rubbing  his  shoulder  after 
we  had  wrung  each  other  by  the  hand,  "  it  was  my  intention 
to  twist  your  arm  from  its  socket ;  but  I  believe  you  have 
forestalled  me." 

The  Dublin  train  took  us  to  Mallow,  where  it  left  us,  and 
pursued  its  way  to  Cork.  At  Mallow  we  changed  for  Killar- 
ney, which  place  we  reached  at  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening. 

The  station  at  Killarney  is  an  arch  of  iron  and  glass,  —  a 
style  so  common  in  Europe.  At  the  end  was  a  transparency 
over  an  opening,  with  the  words  "  Railway  Hotel  "  embla- 
zoned thereon.     We  went  into  that  opening ;   and   it   led 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  43 1 

through  a  passage-way,  covered  with  a  bewildering  mass  of 
ivy,  to  the  hostelry,  —  a  rather  new  feature  in  hotel  economy. 

There  is  one  thing  that  can  be  said  of  all  pictures  of  pre- 
tentious buildings  in  Britain,  —  they  do  not  overrun  the  mark. 
In  our  case,  —  a  people  superficial  and  money-making,  —  our 
prints  invariably  flatter.  I  have  seen  pictures  of  Western 
hotels  that  led  me  to  believe  they  were  imposing  structures, 
when  they  proved  to  be  merely  catch-trap  affairs,  put  up 
cheaply  of  wood,  with  a  great  deal  of  coarse  gingerbread- 
work  to  them.  The  picture  I  saw  of  the  Killarney  hotel 
presented  a  jail-looking  building  that  was  not  inviting ;  but 
relying  on  the  advice  of  a  Scotch  commercial,  that  station 
hotels  were  generally  the  best,  I  went  to  it.  It  is  a  fine- 
looking  hotel,  and  is  surrounded  by  extensive  grounds,  which 
have  been  arranged  with  great  care  ;  and  the  building  itself 
is  supplied  with  every  convenience  for  travellers.  I  appre- 
ciated it  thoroughly  ;  although,  since  getting  away  from  Con- 
naught,  I  have  had  no  trouble  in  this  respect. 

The  next  morning,  on  looking  out  of  the  coffee-room  win- 
dow, I  saw,  in  the  opening  to  the  ivy  passage,  half  a  dozen 
cut-throats.  I  never  saw  them  before  ;  but  I  knew  who  they 
were,  and  what  they  were  after.  They  were  watching  the 
hotel-door,  but  pretending  not  to.  They  were  guides  in 
search  of  a  job. 

The  major  and  I  ordered  a  jaunting-car  with  driver,  and 
started  out  to  make  a  tour  of  the  lakes. 

I  don't  understand  why  these  lakes  are  called  Killarney. 
But  they  are  called  so  only  by  foreigners  and  the  proprietors 
of  panoramas.  Their  names  are  respectively  Lough  Leane, 
Lake  Muckross,  and  Upper  Lake.  The  first-named  is  fre- 
quently called  by  the  people  here  the  Lower  Lake.  It  is 
ten  times  as  large  as  Muckross,  or  the  Middle  Lake ;  and 
that  is  nearly  a  third  larger  than  the  Upper.  The  first  two 
are  nearly  together,  being  separated  by  a  sharp  neck  of  land 
and  an  island.     The  Upper  Lake  is  some  two  miles  from 


432  ENGLAND    FROM    A    HACK-WIN  DOW. 

Muckross,  but  connected  with  it.  I  will  freely  admit  that 
Killamey  is  a  pretty  name,  and  far  more  euphonious  than  the 
others ;  but,  when  any  one  who  possesses  a  well  nose  has 
been  through  the  village  of  Killamey,  he  does  not  see  the 
propriety  of  the  association.  The  lakes,  with  their  foliage- 
lined  shores,  beautiful  private  parks,  and  bold  mountains,  are 
one  of  the  finest  bits  of  scenery ;  but  the  village  ! 

Killarney  boasts  five  thousand  population  ;  and  how  poor 
it  is,  is  best  conveyed  by  the  statistics  of  the  workhouse, 
which  has  four  hundred  paupers.  If  you  know  of  any  place 
the  size  of  Killarney  which  has  an  equal  number  of  profes- 
sional paupers,  I  hope  you  will  let  me  know,  that  I  may 
avoid  it.  Besides  all  these  paupers  in  the  workhouse,  there 
are  a  number  of  beggars  in  the  town  ;  and  still,  in  addition, 
there  are  a  host  of  swindlers  in  bog  jewelry,  and  millions  of 
"touters,"  so  called  because  they  soHcit  money  for  indiffer- 
ent services,  and  drive  you  mad  by  their  importunities. 
Killamey  has  one  main  street  in  the  shape  of  a  tri-square. 
At  one  point  is  the  Protestant  church,  and  at  the  other  is  the 
Catholic  cathedral.  Then  there  is  a  Presbyterian  church  at 
the  angle.  Off  from  this  main  street  are  numerous  little 
stunted  courts  and  thickly-tenanted  lanes.  Although  a  dirty 
and  a  dilapidated  town,  yet  Killarney  is  not  such  a  place  as 
Tuam.  Whether  this  is  because  of  the  beautiful  scenery 
about  it,  or  that  its  main  street  is  broader  and  more  lively 
than  that  of  Tuam,  I  cannot  decide ;  but  it  is  certainly  more 
endurable. 

The  village  is  about  a  mile  and  a  half  from  the  nearest 
point  of  Lough  Leane.  We  do  not  pass  through  it  in  going 
to  the  lakes,  but  took  it  in  on  coming  back.  We  had  a 
jaunting-car.  The  major  made  the  driver  sit  on  the  box ; 
and  he  took  one  side,  and  I  the  other  ;  and,  sitting  well  back, 
we  nearly  faced  each  other,  and  had  a  good  view  of  the  mid- 
dle seam  in  the  back  of  the  driver's  coat  —  and  the  rest  of 
the  country. 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  433 

The  moment  we  took  our  seats,  the  guides  pounced  down 
on  us.  The  major  had  explained,  before  starting,  that  we 
should  not  want  these  people ;  and  so,  when  they  appUed,  I 
told  them  that  I  was  on  my  way  to  see  a  sick  friend,  but 
that  my  companion  was  going  to  see  the  lakes.  They  at 
once  applied  to  him.  He  held  up  his  hand  to  his  ear,  to 
signify  that  he  was  deficient  in  hearing. 

"  He  is  somewhat  deaf,"  I  said  :  "  you  will  have  to  speak 
loud." 

They  raised  their  voices  ;  but  still  he  could  not  catch  their 
sentiment.  They  jumped  up  on  higher  notes  ;  but  they  did 
not  reach  him,  although  he  exhibited  the  liveliest  anxiety  to 
learn  what  they  were  driving  at.  They  made  a  still  greater 
effort,  but  without  success  :  whereupon  all  but  one,  having 
reached  the  highest  point,  retired,  mopping  their  foreheads, 
and  looking  very  much  distressed.  This  one  got  upon  the 
seat  beside  the  major,  and,  putting  both  hands  to  his  mouth 
to  concentrate  his  voice,  fairly  bellowed  with  all  his  might. 
But  it  had  no  effect  on  the  major.  He  put  his  hand  up  to 
his  ear  again,  and  shook  his  head  in  a  very  desponding 
manner. 

"  Great  Heaven  !  "  said  the  unhappy  guide  as  he  got 
down  and  moved  off. 

At  the  toll-gate,  a  few  rods  farther  on,  we  met  a  broad-shoul- 
dered vagrant,  reeking  in  rags  and  dirt,  and  bloated  with 
drink.  He  came  up  on  one  side  of  the  trap  as  the  toll- 
keeper  approached  the  other.  The  major  looked  gravely 
from  one  to  the  other,  and  said,  — 

"  Which  of  you  keeps  this  gate  ?  "  The  gate-keeper's 
face  flushed  scarlet ;  and  he  held  out  his  hand,  and  said  that 
he  was  the  proper  party  to  receive  the  toll. 

When  we  got  away,  the  major  said,  "  That  was  rather  hard 
on  the  gate-man  ;  but  I  intended  it  for  him.  Had  he  been 
an  honest  man,  he  would  not  have  allowed  that  bundle  of 
mud  and  bad  whiskey  to  hang  about  the  gate,  annoying  trav- 


434  ENGLAND    FROM    A    RACK-WINDOW. 

cllers  for  money.  And  I'm  thinking  we  three  will  not  meet 
again  at  that  place." 

We  drove  along  a  road  which  had  high  stone  walls  on  each 
side,  with  trees  overhanging  them.  We  were  approaching 
the  lakes,  and  getting  among  the  premises  of  men  of  prop- 
erty. One  of  the  two  largest  property-o\vners  in  the  neigh- 
borhood is  a  member  of  Parliament,  named  Herbert.  He 
possesses  property  skirting  the  three  lakes,  and  at  the  larger 
has  his  residence  and  extensive  park.  In  the  park  is  the 
famous  Muckross  Abbey,  lying  near  to  the  water.  Mr.  Her- 
bert is  properly  located  in  Parliament.  He  is  politic  enough 
to  see  that  people  want  to  go  over  the  grounds,  and  that  he 
ought  to  gratify  them  ;  but  at  the  same  time  he  is  sufficiently 
a  statesman  to  realize  that  a  shilling  from  each  is  a  very  good 
thing  for  rainy  weather  :  so  he  has  a  system  of  tickets  simi- 
lar to  those  used  on  the  railways  here.  It  is  cheap  and  sen- 
sible ;  but  it  reads  oddly. 

At  the  first  gate  a  woman  came  from  the  porter's  lodge,  and 
let  us  in  on  the  payment  of  a  shilling  each.  But,  before  she 
came  up,  another  woman  in  the  road,  with  a  chikl  in  her 
arms,  made  for  us. 

"  For  the  love  of  a  good  God,  gintlemin,"  she  said,  "  give 
me  a  penny  for  bread  for  me  hungering  children  !  " 

There  was  no  response. 

"  O  gintlemin  !  ye  wadn't  see  us  starve  before  your  very 
eyes,"  she  whined.  "  The  tinder  mercies  of  God  follow  ye, 
good  gintlemin  !  " 

She  hesitated. 

"  Come,"  said  the  major  encouragingly,  "  there  is  another 
remark.     Out  with  it." 

Whereupon  she  said,  — 

"  Sure  a  copper  is  nothing  to  such  as  you  ;  but  it  waud  kape 
the  babbies  from  sooferin.  Plaze,  for  the  love  of  God,  have 
mercy  on  us  !  " 

The  major  threw  her  a  coin,  and  the  driver  started  on  ;  but 
my  companion  stopped  him. 


ENGLAND    FROM    A   -BACK-WINDOW.  435 

And  then  the  miserable  wretch  in  the  road,  tainting  the 
pure  air  with  bad  rum  and  digestion  at  every  breatli,  poured 
into  us  a  volley  of  blessings,  mumbling  them  over  so  swiftly 
as  to  be  hardly  distinguishable.  But  I  have  heard  the  same 
thing  so  often,  that  no  amount  of  disguise  can  hide  it  from 
me.     Here  it  is  :  — 

"  Ayh,  God  bliss  you,  gintlemin  !  God  bliss  you  a  thou- 
sand times  !  An'  long  life  to  your  honors  !  and  may  ye  niver 
want  for  a  blissid  thing  in  life  !  The  Holy  Virgin  protict  you 
an'  kape  you  !  God  bliss  you  !  Holy  angels  kape  you  ! 
Long  life  to  you,  an'  plinty  of  happiness  !  God  bliss  you  for- 
iver  !  " 

"Isn't  that  awful?"  said  the  major  after  she  was  done. 
"  And  she  is  only  one  of  thousands,  —  dirty  wretches,  beg- 
ging when  ever)'body  else  is  at  work,  and  drinking  and  fight- 
ing when  other  people  are  abed.  I  rarely  give  a  penny  to 
one  of  them,  and  think  it  a  harm  to  put  any  thing  in  their 
hands  that  will  procure  them  their  enemy ;  but  I  thought  I 
would  try  that  sixpence  on  her,  praying  that  she  might,  in  a 
fit  of  temporary  aberration,  invest  it  in  soap." 

We  each  gave  the  gate-woman  a  shilling,  and  received,  in 
return,  a  sectional  ticket.  One  part  of  it  the  woman  tore  off 
and  retained  :  the  other  piece  we  kept.  It  signified  on  the 
face  of  it  that  it  was  an  admission  to  Mr.  Herbert's  grounds, 
including  Muckross- Abbey  ruins,  and  must  be  given  up  at 
the  gate  of  egress.  Inside  the  grounds  we  drove  along  a 
smooth  road  winding  along  the  shore  of  the  lake,  bordered 
by  turf,  and  flanked  by  trees.  It  was  a  very  beautiful  scene, 
quiet,  lovely,  and  enchanting.  The  autumnal  tints  were 
touching  the  foliage.  Dark-brown,  gray,  and  various  shades 
of  yellow  abounded  on  each  side  ;  but  the  flaming  maple  was 
absent.  It  needed  only  that  to  make  of  this  early  October 
mom  a  genuine  Indian-summer  day.  There  were  no  objects 
of  interest  along  the  drive,  except  those  of  Nature's  con- 
struction.     It  was  simply  a  park  of  smooth  turf,  varying 


436  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

glimpses  of  the  lake,  and  distant  mountains,  with  soft,  heal- 
ing sunshine  upon  the  earth,  and  a  blue  sky  above,  with 
fleecy  white  clouds  tumbling  lazily  about  in  its  space.  None 
of  us  said  a  word  as  the  car  rolled  quietly  along.  Even  the 
driver  buttoned  his  upper  lip. 

Ten  minutes  on  this  delicious  way  brought  us  to  a  clump 
of  trees,  with  the  gray  walls  of  a  ruin  showing  through  the 
openings.  This  was  Muckross  Abbey.  The  driver  drove 
around  to  a  gate,  as  a  paling  surrounded  the  building  and 
the  adjacent  grounds,  which  were  used  for  burial. 

My  first  view  of  the  abbey  was  a  sort  of  disappointment, 
perhaps  by  reason  of  the  approach,  which  showed  me  but 
a  shattered  end  of  the  building,  from  ground  higher  than 
its  first  floor  ;  while  a  lofty  tree  concealed  the  tower.  I  was 
opposite  the  chancel-window  (bare  of  glass,  of  course),  with 
its  skeleton  spandrels  casting  shadows  on  the  grass  where  I 
stood.  All  about  it  was  a  mass  of  shining  ivy.  In  fact,  all 
this  end-wall,  with  portions  of  the  side-walls  and  most  of  the 
massive  tower,  concealed  their  deformity  beneath  the  friendly 
offices  of  the  beautiful  ivy.  We  paused  a  moment  to  glance 
at  the  exterior  of  the  walls,  and  then  passed  into  the  build- 
ing through  a  low  door. 

Muckross  Abbey  and  Church  were  founded  in  the  fifteenth 
century.  As  an  abbey,  it  was  a  place  of  residence  for  the 
members  of  the  order  which  founded  it ;  and  consequently 
we  find  a  dining-room,  kitchen,  and  sleeping-apartments  with- 
in the  walls. 

Any  one  who  goes  over  this  or  a  similar  place,  and  looks  at 
its  bleak  walls,  cold,  cheerless  stone  floors,  dreary  low  ceil- 
ings, and  hampered  rooms,  can  scarcely  conceive  how  human 
beings,  with  human  warmth,  and  human  love  of  the  bright 
and  cheerful,  could  live  a  monastic  life,  especially  in  those 
back  centuries,  when  ignorance  and  poverty  were  the  com- 
mon heritage  of  the  masses.  That  those  jieople  did  good, 
there  is  no  doubt  :  but  that  they  could  have  greatly  multiplied 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  437 

their  successes  by  carrying  their  holiness  and  self-denial  into 
the  world  is  equally  certain. 

In  the  panoramas  of  the  lakes  the  abbey  is  represented  in 
its  completed  state,  with  illuminated  windows  and  the  singing 
of  vespers.  The  first  panorama  of  Killarney  I  witnessed 
was  under  the  auspices  of  a  friend,  who  loaned  me  a  shilling 
to  do  it  with.  The  exhibition  made  such  an  impression  upon 
me  as  to  soften  my  heart,  and  ennoble  my  nature ;  but  it 
had  no  such  effect  upon  him.  He  was  of  a  low  and  grovel- 
ling nature,  and  for  years  after  used  to  dun  me  for  that  shil- 
ling. 

But  the  most  interesting  sight  to  me  in  connection  with 
Muckross  Abbey  and  Church  was  a  funeral,  which  entered 
the  ground  as  we  came  out  into  the  yard.  It  was  just  as 
well  now  that  I  did  not  wait  in  Tuam  to  witness  the  specta- 
cle ;  for  the  guide  had  been  telling  us  that  only  hereabouts, 
and  in  some  portions  of  Connaught,  were  the  primitive  cus- 
toms in  burial  kept  up.  They  were  growing  less  frequent 
here,  and  would  probably  pass  away  entirely  with  this  cen- 
tury. 

The  funeral  was  of  a  young  man,  with  no  nearer  relatives 
than  an  aunt  and  several  cousins.  There  are  no  people  so 
prolific  in  cousins  as  the  Irish.  That  is  about  the  only  rela- 
tive they  lay  themselves  out  on,  and  in  their  production  they 
beat  the  world. 

Four  men  brought  the  coffin  into  that  portion  of  the 
grounds  already  serrated  with  unmarked  graves.  They  set 
it  down  on  the  ground,  and  I  looked  about  for  the  gra\-e  ; 
but  there  was  not  a  bit  of  fresh-turned  earth  in  sight.  The 
women  got  together,  looking  at  the  coffin,  which  was  stained 
black  to  make  it  all  the  more  oppressive  and  awful,  and  wept 
silently.  The  men  also  gathered  in  a  knot  by  themselves, 
and  divided  their  attention  between  the  coffin  and  ourselves  ; 
hardly  knowing,  perhaps,  which  to  admire  most.  Then  two 
of  the  men  took  off  their  coats,  and  marked  out  a  spot  on 


43^  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW, 

the  turf  tlie '  size  of  the  cofifin,  and  straightway  set  to  work 
to  dig  the  grave.  This  was  a  custom  peculiar  to  Killarney, 
and  was  not  due  to  the  neghgcnce  of  the  sexton  or  under- 
taker. The  body  is  first  brought  to  the  place  of  burial,  and 
then  the  grave  is  dug.  The  work  went  fonvard  rapidly,  as 
the  earth  was  soft  and  yielding.  All  the  while  it  progressed, 
the  aunt  and  cousins  of  the  deceased  swayed  their  bodies, 
and  emitted  a  moaning  sound,  which  the  other  women  either 
encouraged  by  joining,  or  attempted  to  abate  by  simple  sym- 
pathy. 

On  the, completion  of  the  opening,  the  body  was  lowered 
into  it,  there  being  no  service  at  the  grave,  as  the  deceased 
was  poor,  the  caretaker  explained ;  and  the  earth  was  imme- 
diately thrown  in.  At  the  first  shovelful  the  relatives  sent 
up  a  cry,  which  by  its  suddenness  startled  me.  It  was  just 
such  a  sound  as  came  from  the  people  at  Athenry ;  but  it 
lacked  that  subtle  agony.  It  came  from  an  aunt  and  cousins, 
and  not  from  brothers  and  sisters  torn  apart.  It  came  from 
temporary  excitement,  and  was  due  to  the  occasion,  and  was 
not  from  hearts  genuinely  lacerated.  I  stood  it  with  perfect 
composure. 

But,  as  the  grave  filled  up,  those  in  attendance  who  had 
graves  in  the  same  lot  repaired  to  them  ;  and,  as  they  reached 
them,  they  gave  utterance  to  the  same  wail,  only  in  increased 
intensity.  Some  of  them  threw  themselves  upon  the  graves  ; 
others  swayed  above  them,  and  \\Tung  their  hands ;  still 
others  fell  on  their  knees,  and  threw  their  hands  above  their 
heads ;  while  up  among  the  trees,  and  through  the  park, 
and  over  the  water,  sounded  the  wailing  cry. 

It  was  no  fit  place  for  disinterested  strangers ;  and  the 
major  and  I  left  the  grounds,  and,  mounting  the  car,  drove 
away. 

We  passed  along  another  smooth  road,  which  wound  under 
noble  trees,  and  by  copse  after  copse  of  blackthorn  ;  and  still 
we  were  in  Mr,  Herbert's  private  grounds.     Pretty  soon  we 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  439 

reached  an  angle  of  a  road  which  approached  a  magnificent 
lawn ;  and  across  it  we  got  a  good  view  of  his  modern  resi- 
dence, built  in  the  Elizabethan  style,  but  hardly  so  imposing 
as  I  had  expected  from  a  man  of  his  great  wealth. 


440  ENGLAND    FROM    A    15ACK-\VINDOW. 


CHAPTER     LII. 


SCENERY   AND    LIES. 


AFTER  a  look  at  the  mansion  we  dipped  back  among 
the  trees  again,  and  followed  the  road  through  many 
romantic  spots  to  tlie  Dinish  Island.  On  Dinish  Island  is  a 
cottage  erected  by  Mr.  Herbert  for  the  rest  and  refreshment 
of  tourists. 

I  went  round  to  the  back  of  the  house,  where  was  the 
kitchen-door,  and  was  cordially  entertained  by  three  small 
dogs,  which  dashed  through  the  open  doorway,  and  came 
against  my  legs  with  such  strength  of  hospitality  as  to  nearly 
throw  me  off  my  feet. 

Right  behind  them  appeared  a  buxom  woman,  with  her 
bare  arms  streaked  with  suds. 

"  Good-momin'  to  your  honor,"  she  said  :  "  I  hope  I  see 
you  well."  And  without  giving  me  opportunity  to  explain, 
that,  in  spite  of  a  little  touch  of  rheumatism  in  my  left  leg, 
I  was  in  a  tolerable  state  of  health,  she  straightway  put  one 
hand  up  to  her  mouth  in  imitation  of  a  tnmipct,  and,  point- 
ing this  instrument  toward  a  point  in  the  heavens,  shouted 
three  times  in  stentorian  tones,  "John  !" 

At  the  conclusion  of  the  third  cry,  John,  who  was  intro- 
duced to  me  as  her  husband,  made  his  appeiu-ance. 

Across  the  channel  which  separates  Dinish  Island  frum 
the  mainland  is  an  old  bridge  [  an  ancient  bridge,  I  slioukl 
say.     The   bridge    is   formed  'of  two   rude   arches,  and   is 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  44 1 

scarcely  less  rugged  than  its  surroundings.  From  the  porch 
of  the  cottage  we  had  a  good  view  of  it ;  also  of  the  seeth- 
irig,  boiling,  angry  waters  which  rushed  over  the  rocks  be- 
neath it. 

"  Shooting  "  the  weir  is  a  performance  which  brings  many 
tourists  to  this  cottage,  and  the  keeper  of  it  is  the  head  ar- 
tillery-man. A  party  —  consisting  of  a  fat  woman,  a  lean  man, 
and  a  parasol  —  were  enjoying  this  target-excursion.  When 
the  boat  struck  the  eddies,  the  boatman  tended  alone  to  the 
helm.  The  current  itself  was  sufficiently  rapid  to  whiz  the 
boat  through  ;  and,  had  the  vessel  lost  its  head  for  an  instant, 
a  capsize,  with  fatal  results,  would  have  immediately  followed. 
But  the  boat  came  through  gallantly,  the  fat  lady  and  her 
attenuated  husband  attesting  their  enjoyment  of  the  feat  by 
convulsively  clutching  each  other,  and  shrieking  at  the  ex- 
treme top  of  their  respective  voices. 

John  pressed  us  to  tr}'  the  experiment,  and  John's  wife 
added  her  persuasive  eloquence  ;  but  we  were  firm  in  our  re- 
fusal. However,  we  cheered  their  hearts  by  buying  a  couple 
of  bushels  of  photographs. 

Crossing  Brickeen  Island,  we  had  a  grand  view  of  the 
Lough  of  Leane,  with  its  expanse  of  waters,  many  islands, 
and  quiet  shores,  with  background  of  mountainous  range. 
One  of  its  islands  is  the  Ross,  with  a  castle  and  a  copper 
mine ;  another  is  the  Innisfallen,  where  are  the  ruins  of  an 
abbey.  I  thought  at  first  I  would  not  visit  it,  but  changed 
my  mind  on  the  representation  of  the  driver.  He  told  us  a 
legend.  He  said,  that,  before  the  time  of  Muckross  Abbey, 
there  stood  a  church  on  Innisfallen.  Attached  to  it  was  a 
devout  friar,  who  was  much  given  to  prayer.  He  used  to 
retire  to  a  rock  in  a  secluded  part  of  the  island  when  spe- 
cially meditative.  On  one  of  these  occasions  he  fell  asleep, 
and  slept  for  two  hundred  years. 

"  How  long?  "  asked  the  major  impetuously. 

"Two  hundred  years,  sir,"  repeated  the  driver. 


442  ENGLAND    FROM    A    HACK-WINDOW. 

"  Hear  that,  Bailey  !  "  said  the  major  with  a  burst  of 
pride.  "  That  was  an  Irishman  that  slept  two  hundred  years 
at  a  single  jump.  And,  by  my  soul,  I'll  wager  the  best  bottle 
Dunville  ever  turned  out  that  our  excellent  and  very  reliable 
friend,  the  driver  here,  will  do  the  same  thing  any  day. 
Will  you  not,  my  man?" 

The  driver  shook  his  head,  and  tried  to  look  pleasant. 

"What's  that?"  exclaimed  the  major.  "Come  now, 
driver,  you  are  too  modest ;  but  it's  a  national  failing.  But 
get  you  down,  and  take  the  rock  yonder  for  a  pillow,  and  I'll 
hold  your  beast  and  time  you.  Just  try  ten  or  fifteen  years, 
to  show  the  gentleman  from  America  what  we  can  do  in 
Ireland." 

The  driver  stared  at  the  major  and  at  me,  and  looked 
warm  and  uncomfortable. 

"  Go  on  with  your  story,  then,"  said  the  major  petulantly 
after  a  pause.     "  You  are  mighty  disobliging,  I  must  say." 

"  But,"  protested  the  unhappy  Jehu,  "  the  friar  was  a  holy 
man." 

"  And  aren't  you  a  holy  man  too  ?  If  you  deny  that,  it 
is  a  queerer  driver  you  are  than  I  think,  and  the  first  in 
my  life  that  I  knew  to  turn  tail  to  the  impeachment.  But 
get  along  with  the  legend." 

Thus  abjured,  the  driver  proceeded  with  his  narrative. 

The  friar  slept  there  on  his  knees  for  two  hundred  years  ; 
and  then  he  awoke,  and  returned  to  the  abbey.  But  every 
thing  was  strange  to  him.  Two  centuries  had  removed 
many  of  the  shrubs,  and  replaced  them  with  tliose  of  difier- 
ent  kinds.  Saplings  had  sprung  into  mighty  oaks  ;  and  huge 
trunks  had  fallen  away,  anil  disappeared.  New  forms  moved 
about  the  temple,  and  new  faces  looked  upon  him  with  sur- 
])rised  glances.  He  called  in  vain  for  his  old  companions, 
(ienerations  ago  they  had  died,  and  even  their  ashes  were 
not. 

Dismayed,  discouraged,  and  broken-hearted,  he  retired 
to  the  place  of  his  devotions,  and  there  died. 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  443 

I  asked  the  driver  if  he  believed  this  story ;  and  he  said 
nobody  could  deny  it,  as  the  prints  of  the  man's  knees  were 
still  to  be  seen  on  the  rock. 

"But  how  do  you  know  the  man  is  dead?"  asked  the 
major. 

"  They  found  him,  sir,  the  next  day." 

"  And  so  he  slept  on  that  little  island  for  two  hundred 
years,  and  no  one  knew  it,  although  he  may  have  snored 
like  a  maiden  aunt ;  but  he  was  scarcely  dead  four  and  twenty 
hours  when  they  all  found  it  out.  Of  course  it  is  so,"  con- 
tinued the  major,  as  if  communing  with  himself,  "  because, 
aren't  the  prints  of  his  knees  in  the  stone?  But  it  shows 
that  the  organ  of  smell  is  much  superior  to  both  the  organs 
of  hearing  and  seeing." 

There  was  still  another  legend.  When  we  were  driving 
along  the  upper  lake,  the  smaller  of  the  three,  there  was  a 
long  line  of  rocks  observable  on  the  opposite  shore.  On 
the  face  of  one  of  them  was  a  very  good  image,  in  white 
moss  or  mould  or  stain,  of  a  roe.  The  driver  directed  our 
attention  to  this.  He  said  that  every  seven  years  an  extinct 
chieftain,  called  the  O'Donogue,  mounted  a  white  horse, 
and  chased  the  roe  through  the  waters  of  the  lake.  All 
night  long  he  kept  up  the  pursuit ;  but  at  daybreak  the  spot 
returned  to  the  rock,  and  the  horse  and  its  rider  disappeared 
beneath  the  waters.  He  chased  the  roe  to  secure  the  peace 
of  his  soul,  that  desirable  condition  depending  upon  the 
capture  of  the  animal.  Many  a  man,  especially  on  the 
Mississippi,  and  in  the  early  days  of  California,  laid  all  his 
wealth  on  a  spot.  The  driver  believed  this  story.  I  gave 
him  a  postage-stamp,  with  the  understanding  that  he  Avould 
send  me  the  particulars  when  the  O'Donogue  caught  the 
roe. 

The  drive  by  Muckross  and  Upper  Lakes  was  certainly 
grand.  The  road  wound  beneath  rocky  precipices,  about 
the   base  of  enormous  mountains,  along  the   placid  water, 


444  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

adown  wooded  glades,  and  by  park  lands.  We  could  get 
glimi)ses  of  water  and  meadow,  and  various  tinted  rocks, 
and  many-colored  foliage.  Every  little  while  on  the  road  we 
were  obliged  to  turn  out,  or  to  halt,  to  permit  a  drove  of  Irish 
cattle  to  pass  by.  The  genuine  Highland  cow  is  low  and 
broad,  with  a  woolly  coat,  and  large,  fine  eyes  :  the  Irish 
cow  is  very  small,  with  dehcate  horns,  and  a  patient,  forgiv- 
ing eye. 

These  cows,  and  their  quiet  shock- headed  drivers,  added  a 
pleasant  domestic  feature  to  the  beauty  of  the  scene.  Cows 
are  always  comforting  to  look  upon,  if  your  parents  do  not 
own  them  and  make  you  do  the  churning. 

We  were  pausing  to  allow  one  of  these  droves  to  go  by, 
when  a  woman,  with  a  small  shawl  thrown  over  her  shoulder, 
and  leading  a  very  fat  and  red-faced  boy  by  the  hand,  came 
up  to  us,  and  said,  — 

"  For  the  tinder  mercy  of  a  good  God,  give  a  poor  widdy 
a  few  coppers  for  bread  !  " 

The  major  looked  blankly  at  her,  and  shook  his  liead, 
and  said,  — 

"  Parlez-vous  Anglice?  " 

And  then  shook  his  head  again,  as  if  he  was  in  a  very  bad 
way. 

The  unfortunate  widow  turned  to  me ;  but  I  was  a  for- 
eigner, and  remembered  it  in  time  to  save  myself. 

Then  she  turned  away  with  a  heavy  sigh,  saying,  — 

"  The  divil  fly  away  wid  ye,  ye  gibbering  furriners  !  " 

And  we  moved  on.  A  short  distance  ahead,  the  driver 
drew  up  at  a  gate  in  a  stone  wall,  close  to  which  was  a  little 
but  pleasant-looking  cottage,  occupied  by  Mr.  Herbert's 
game-keeper.  His  wife  came  and  let  us  into  the  enclosure 
by  the  payment  pf  a  fee,  and  we  followed  a  little  path  which 
ran  along  a  swift-moving  brook  and  up  a  mountain.  This 
was  Tore  Mountain,  and  the  stream  descending  it  niatle  the 
Tore  Cascade.  ^Ve  climbeti  half  way  up  the  hill,  and  came 
out  on  a  ledge  nearly  level  with  the  top  of  the  cascade. 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    HACK-WINDOW.  445 

The  roar  of  the  descending  torrent  made  conversation 
difificult.  The  water  of  the  httle  brook  came  pouring 
over  the  rocks  hke  a  whirhvind,  breaking  itself  into  hun- 
dreds of  streams,  and  lashing  itself  into  a  fury  of  ecstasy. 
It  was  drunk,  —  crazy  drunk.  It  roared  and  moaned,  and 
fell  down  and  jumped  up,  and  rolled  over  from  rock  to  rock. 
It  was  in  an  ecstasy  of  blind  drunkenness,  and  it  made  me 
dizzy  and  intemperate  to  look  upon  it.  We  took  the  path 
again,  and  mounted  up  still  higher,  and  then  looked  down 
on  the  foaming  cascade,  and  hstened  to  its  fury,  which  was 
now  tempered  into  a  sullen  roar.  « 

Then  we  looked  off  toward  the  lakes,  and  there  they  lay 
spread  out  before  us  in  the  mellow  sunshine  like  a  plain  of 
silver  dotted  with  emeralds.  Beautiful,  beautiful,  beyond  all 
words  ! 

Well,  we  went  dowTi,  and  passed  through  the  gate  again. 
The  car  was  drawn  up  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  road  ; 
which  was  purposely  done  by  the  driver,  I  imagine,  to  give 
opportunity  for  certain  people  to  attack  us.  There  were  two 
old  women,  each  with  a  pail  half  full  of  milk,  and  a  bowl 
swimming  around  on  the  top  ;  and  in  the  other  hand  was  a 
bottle.  So  this  was  the  poteen  and  goat's  milk  I  had 
heard  of.  Then  there  were  two  boys  selling  ferns  and  Kil- 
larney  myrtle,  and  three  young  women  with  bog-oak  jewelry 
in  market-baskets ;  and  then  there  were  a  couple  of  able- 
bodied  men  with  photographs. 

The  poteen  ladies  came  upon  us  at  once.  I  panted 
after  the  whiskey  ;  but  I  yearned  beyond  measure  for  a  good 
draught  of  that  goat's  milk  out  of  one  of  the  bowls  float- 
ing in  the  delicious  fluid,  and  which  the  women  caught  up 
in  their  fingers  and  extended  towards  us.  But  the  major 
stepped  ahead.  He  understood  the  danger  we  were  in  much 
better  than  I  did.  Quick  action  alone  could  save  us,  as  he 
afterward  explained  ;  and  he  stei)ped  quickly  ahead. 

The  old  women  spoke  both  together ;  and  then  the  fern 


44^  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

boys  came  up,  and  with  ihcm  the  venders  of  photographs  ; 
and  close  behind  them  were  the  dealers  in  the  bog-oak  jew- 
elry, made  from  that  black  wood,  and  touched  off  with 
brass.     And  then  they  all  opened  their  mouths. 

And  the  major  stared  at  them  with  a  blankness  that 
seemed  almost  supernatural. 

He  put  his  hand  up  to  his  ear,  and  shook  his  head,  and 
looked  unutterably  unhappy.  It  was  the  deaf  game  over 
again.  I  followed  suit.  Then  the  people  lifted  their  voices ; 
but  still  we  could  not  hear  theirs.  I  merely  shook  my  head, 
and  left  the  major  to  say  at  every  repulse,  "  My  good  people, 
I  fail  to  catch  your  meaning,  owing  to  excessive  deafness." 
Then  they  lifted  up  their  voices  still  higher,  and  took  up 
their  articles  and  shook  them  before  him,  and  danced  around 
on  the  road,  and  made  up  grimaces,  and  resorted  to  numer- 
ous other  intelligent  devices  to  convey  to  him  a  tenth  part 
of  their  anxiety  to  sell  him  something. 

But  he  could  not  hear  them,  and  I  had  explained  to  them 
that  I  was  his  servant :  so  they  had  no  other  alternative  but 
to  fall  back  and  curse  his  deafness,  which  they  did  with  an 
earnestness  that  would  have  overcome  any  other  man's  com- 
posure. 

On  our  return,  and  in  passing  through  the  village,  we  had 
another  rabble  after  us  ;  but  we  gave  them  crumbs  of  French 
arul  bon-mots  in  Latin,  and  much  that  was  comforting  and 
instructive  in  German,  —  things  that  could  not  remove  their 
hunger,  but  which  served  to  appease  them  until  we  could 
get  away. 

That  night  the  major  went  back  to  Dublin,  after  playing 
a  game  of  forty-five  with  the  head  steward  of  the  hotel, 
and  winning  ten  shillings  from  him  ;  which  caused  that  un- 
fortunate individual  to  relapse  into  a  moody  silence  for  the 
rest  of  the  evening. 

The  next  day  I  did  the  Gap  of  Dunloe.  Rut  the  major 
was  away,  and   there  were  no   touters,   nor  poteen-sellers. 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  447 

nor  peddlers  of  any  kind,  and  but  one  beggar  (and  he  only 
had  one  car  off)  :  so  I  didn't  enjoy  the  trip.  But  it  was 
gloomy  and  imposing,  was  the  gap  ;  and  it  rained  nearly  all 
the  time  :  so  there  was  some  satisfaction  about  it. 

However,  there  was  one  feature  —  not  of  the  gap,  as  it  is 
just  out  of  it  —  which  pleased  me  amazingly.  This  was  the 
maid  who  occupies  Kate  Kearney's  cottage,  and  sells  photo- 
graphs and  poteen.  I  got  some  of  the  poteen.  It  isn't 
so  pleasant,  as  a  beverage,  as  is  camphene ;  but  it  is  more 
dangerous.  But  the  maid  interested  me.  I  had  heard  so 
much  of  the  wondrous  beauty  of  Kate  Kearney,  that  I  was 
glad  indeed  to  look  upon  the  present  occupant  of  the  cot- 
tage, who  is  a  direct  descendant  from  Kate.  Her  name  is 
Kearney  too  ;  which  struck  me  as  being  singular,  for  obvious 
reasons. 

Miss  Keaniey  came  to  the  door  of  the  cabin  on  my  appli- 
cation, and  smiled  when  she  saw  me,  displaying  two  rows  of 
teeth  as  she  did  so,  —  one  in  each  row.  Then  she  had 
freckles,  and  coarse  red  hair,  and  a  scar  over  her  left  eye, 
and  one  foot  turned  in,  and  a  voice  like  a  file ;  and  she 
squinted,  and  sweat  under  the  arms. 

I  withered  before  her  glance. 

"Are  you  a  descendant  of  the  beautiful  Kate  Kearney?" 

"  Yis,  sir." 

"Is  Kate  dead?" 

"  Miny  years  ago,  sir." 

"Thank  Heaven!"  I  ejaculated.  "Rig  up  a  flowing 
bowl ! " 


448  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 


CHAPTER  LIII. 


A   NEWLY-ARRIVED   YANKEE. 


BACK  to  Mallow  again,  and  thence  down  the  Dublin 
and  Cork  line  to  the  latter  city. 

Cork  has  not  eighty  thousand  j)opulation.  The  best  part 
of  the  city  is  on  an  island  ;  although  there  is  a  portion  of  it, 
and  a  very  decent  and  respectable  part  of  it,  located  on  a 
tremendous  hill. 

There  is  but  little  to  attract  tourists  in  Cork.  Shandon's 
bells,  of  which  some  poet  has  sung,  are  in  the  steeple  of 
some  Cork  church.  I  didn't  hear  them  ;  and,  as  the  Cork 
people  appeared  to  be  very  much  composed,  I  imagined 
there  was  nothing  particularly  exciting  about  the  chimes. 
All  the  streets  of  Cork,  except  some  of  the  cross-lanes,  are 
crooked.  The  chief  street  is  the  St.  Patrick,  which,  although 
not  so  straight  as  an  arrow,  is  very  close  to  it,  being  in  the 
shape  of  a  bow. 

The  guide-book  says  the  street  is  spoiled  by  the  irregular- 
ity of  the  buildings.  But  that  was  its  chief  charm  to  me ; 
and  no  street  which  I  have  seen  in  Britain,  except  some 
ancient  thoroughfare,  afforded  me  so  much  comfort  as  did 
St.  Patrick.  Its  buildings  were  of  varying  heights,  to  be 
sure  ;  but  they  also  were  of  varying  colors,  and  some  of  them 
of  a  bright  and  cheerful  countenance  ;  in  which  respect  tliey 
somewhat  resembled  the  lower  part  of  Fourth  .Xvcnue  in 
New  York,  or  South  Pearl  Street  in  Albany.     I  wept  many 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  449 

scalding  tears  in  St,  Patrick  Street.  Home  memories  always 
do  whip  the  juice  out  of  me. 

There  is  notliing  more  to  write  about  Cork  that  I  can 
think  of. 

One  day,  while  there,  I  went  down  to  Queenstown.  You 
know  Queenstown.  There  is  no  place  in  Europe  that  is  so 
dear  to  me  as  Queenstown.  Four-fifths  of  the  numerous 
steamers  now  sailing  between  England  and  America  touch 
at  Queenstown,  both  in  going  and  coming,  to  embark,  and 
to  land  the  mails.  From  Queenstown  to  Liverpool  is  a  run 
of  twenty-two  or  twenty-four  hours  for  the  steamer.  But  the 
mails  landed  there  proceed  to  Dublin,  thence  across  the 
Irish  Sea  to  Holyhead  in  England  (a  distance  of  sixty-four 
miles),  and  thence  by  rail  again  to  London.  In  this  way 
several  hours  are  gained  in  mail-time  ;  which  is  of  considera- 
ble importance  in  this  fast  age.  The  leading  English  dailies 
make  a  specialty  of  foreign  mail  news ;  and  an  American 
loses  no  time  in  the  morning  in  getting  a  daily,  and  referring 
at  once  to  that  column. 

That  evening,  when  I  got  back  to  my  hotel  in  Cork,  I 
found  a  party  of  Americans  had  arrived.  There  appeared 
to  be  two  or  three  families  of  them.  Part  of  them  were 
going  to  Dublin  to  make  a  stay ;  and  a  part  were  going  over 
to  England  at  once,  and  thence  proceed  to  Paris.  I  am  very 
fond  and  proud  of  my  countrymen  at  home ;  but  abroad 
they  are  the  most  genial  and  comprehensive  of  asses  of  any 
people  I  have  fallen  in  with.  When  you  come  across  an 
American  who  has  been  over  here  any  length  of  time,  you 
find  a  sedate,  pleasant,  well-informed,  and  courteous  per- 
sonage.    He  is  perfectly  natural. 

These  Americans  were  at  the  hotel.  I  found  them  as 
companions  at  dinner.  I  didn't  say  any  thing  to  them,  of 
course,  because  they  were  not  English  or  Irish,  to  whom  you 
could  have  opened  your  heart  at  once  ;  but  they  w-ere  Amer- 
icans just  over,  and  they  were  enough  in  themselves.     They 


450  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW, 

talked  over  all  their  plans,  without  reser\'e.  An  Irish  friend 
and  myself — the  only  foreigners  in  the  company — attempted 
to  say  something  on  our  own  account ;  but  we  found  in  a 
very  sliort  time  that  there  was  no  chance  for  ourselves  :  so  we 
sunk  into  a  proper  silence,  and  let  the  new  arrivals  talk. 

It  soon  transpired  that  they  were  ultimately  going  to  Switz- 
erland. They  made  arrangements,  in  a  tone  of  voice  to  be 
heard  all  over  the  room,  for  meeting  in  Berne,  and  Rome 
and  Venice,  and  Jerusalem  and  Constantinople,  and  Paris 
and  Vienna. 

After  dinner  I  went  down  into  the  smoking-room,  and  had 
the  fire  and  cigar  all  to  myself.  I  had  sat  there  some  fifteen 
minutes,  thinking  of  my  money  in  the  bank,  and  of  my  real 
estate  and  other  property,  when  the  head  of  one  of  the  fami- 
lies, the  one  which  was  going  to  remain  in  Ireland  for  a  few 
days,  came  in  with  his  cigar.  He  took  a  seat  on  the  other 
side  of  the  fire-place,  and  commenced  a  conversation  at  once. 

"  I  find  it  pretty  hard  work  to  get  along  with  the  hotel 
system  here,"  he  said,  "it  is  so  much  different  from  tliat  in 
my  country." 

"You  are  not  an  Englishman,  then?  "  I  asked  with  some 
interest. 

"  Oh,  dear,  no  !  "  he  answered.  "  I  am  from  America  : 
just  come." 

"  And  are  the  American  hotels  conducted  differently  from 
ours?"  I  asked,  warming  up  in  the  subject. 

"  Well,  you  bet  they  are  !  "  he  said.  "Just  as  different  as 
day  and  night.  Now,  what  sort  of  a  dinner  do  you  call  that 
we  had  just  now?" 

"That  wasfal>/e  d'hbtc,  rather  slim,  I'll  admit." 

"/  should  say  so.  Why,  for  two  weeks  before  I  came 
away,  —  I  live  in  Ikooklyn,  and  am  connected  with  the  Pub- 
lic Works  there,  —  I  broke  up  keeping  house,  and  took  my 
family  to  the  Westminster  Hotel  in  New  York.  Why,  this 
place  ain't  a  woodshed  beside  it.     And  we  had  eight  courses 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BAGK-VVINDOVV.  45 1 

for  dinner,  with  ice-cream  and  confectionery,  and  nuts  and 
coffee,  and  all  sorts  of  fruit,  to  top  off  with." 

"  How  much  would  such  a  meal  cost  you?  "  I  inquired. 

"  Oh  !  we  don't  pay  by  the  meal  in  our  hotels." 

"  What !  "  I  ejaculated  in  some  astonishment. 

"  No,  we  don't  pay  by  the  meal.  We  pay  by  the  day,  —  so 
much  a  day;  and  you  have  the  best  the  market  affords." 

"I  have  often  heard  of  America,"  I  said,  "and  have  for 
years  felt  a  great  desire  to  go  over  there  ;  but  I  have  dreaded 
the  trip,  because  of  fear  that  the  hotels  would  not  be  com- 
fortable." 

"  Pooh  !  You  won't  find  finer  or  as  fine  hotels  in  all  the 
world  as  you  can  find  in  the  States,"  he  declared,  taking  the 
cigar  from  his  mouth,  and  staring  earnestly  at  me.  "  You 
can  have  every  thing  you  want.  And  as  for  drinks,  there  is 
nothing  like  it.  I  suppose  you  have  heard  of  the  great  vari- 
ety of  our  drinks? " 

"Oh,  yes  !  "  I  said.  "I  met  an  American  the  other  day, 
and  he  gave  me  quite  an  account  of  the  aptitude  of  your  bar- 
tenders.    It  must  be  wonderful."     And  I  sighed  audibly. 

"  Well,  we  don't  think  much  of  it  over  our  way ;  but  I  sup- 
pose it  strikes  you  English  as  being  extraordinary.  If  you 
should  try  a  cobbler,  one  of  our  genuine  sherry-cobblers,  you 
wouldn't  want  to  come  down  to  your  plain  drinks  again. 
But  I  must  go  to  see  off  some  people  who  came  over  with 
us,  and  are  going  to  meet  us  in  Venice ;  but  I  advise  you 
to  go  to  America  if  you  want  to  see  good  square  living." 

And  thus  he  departed.  But  his  advice  sank  deeply  into 
my  mind,  and  I  sincerely  hope  the  day  will  come  when  I 
may  see  America,  —  that  wonderful  country.  I  want  to  see 
the  people  too,  they  are  so  modest ! 

The  next  day  I  left  Cork,  retracing  my  way  to  Mallow. 
The  first  station  beyond  Cork  had  its  sign-board  embedded 
in  the  ivy  which  clung  to  the  wall  on  which  it  was.  The 
name  was  simple  enough ;  but  what  a  flood  of  speculations 
it  called  up  !     The  name  was  Blarney. 


452  ENGLAND    FROM    A    RACK-WINDOW, 

Blarney  consisted  simply  of  the  station-buildings  and  part 
of  a  freight-train.  After  getting  down,  and  learning  that  the 
road  which  crossed  the  track  led  over  to  the  castle,  I  left  my 
bag  with  the  station-master,  and  trudged  forward. 

Perhaps  it  was  not  two  miles  to  the  castle.  The  road  rose 
up  and  dipped  down,  and  finally  turned  sharp  to  the  right, 
and  dipped  down  over  a  creek,  and  by  a  row  of  tenements, 
occupied,  I  knew,  by  factory-operatives,  even  before  I  saw 
the  factory.  I  passed  that.  There  was  with  me  a  young 
man  from  Cork.  He  had  a  sort  of  basket-work  bag  thrown 
over  his  shoulder,  and  held  by  the  handle  of  a  hammer  put 
through  the  handles  of  the  basket-bag.  He  had  never  before 
been  in  Blarney,  and  had  not  heard  of  the  castle,  nor  of 
its  priceless  treasure,  the  Blarney-stone.  I  was  very  much 
surprised  to  learn  that  he  was  a  machinist.  I  thought  he 
might  be  the  president  of  a  state  normal  school.  He  had 
come  up  from  Cork  to  do  a  job  at  one  of  the  mills.  Beyond 
the  mill  where  I  left  him  was  a  fragment  of  a  village,  built 
up  at  a  cross-road,  —  not  such  a  village  as  would  be  seen  in 
an  American  rural  district,  consisting  of  two  or  three  stores, 
cooper,  wagon,  and  blacksmith  shops,  with  straggling  houses 
set  in  the  middle  of  ample  yards.  The  stores  were  here  ;  but 
the  houses  were  of  stone,  and  built  smack  up  against  the 
sidewalk,  and  smack  up  against  each  other.  They  were  of 
stone,  I  have  said.  But  it  was  not  necessary.  Ninety  out 
of  every  hundred  houses  in  Britain  are  of  stone  ;  and  the 
balance,  of  brick  or  concrete.  I  have  not  seen  a  dwelling 
built  of  wood  since  I  left  America.  And  I  have  not  seen  a 
single  shingle  roof  in  that  time  :  to  tell  the  truth,  I  have 
not  seen  a  shingle  even.  This  is  dreadful ;  but  I  endure  it 
because  it  is  true  :  I  am  vev)'  fond  of  true  things. 

On  a  little  bridge  I  paused,  and  took  a  good  look  at  the 
castle. 

Beyond  the  bridge  was  an  open  gate  ;  and  inside  the  stone 
wall,  close  to  it,  was  a  little  whitewashed  cabin,  answering  as 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  453 

the  porter's  lodge,  I  suppose.  But  there  was  no  one  of 
whom  to  ask  permission  to  enter.  I  looked  into  the  open 
door  of  the  house,  and  saw  an  earth  floor,  and  a  "half-dozen 
hens  roosting  on  the  backs  of  chairs,  (such  proud  hens  are 
these  Irish  fowls  !)  but  no  human  being  in  sight.  Then  I 
followed  the  road  up  to  a  clump  of  trees  on  an  elevation, 
where  stood  the  castle.  Reaching  the  trees,  I  found  a  num- 
ber of  workmen  employed  on  a  large  structure  of  brick,  —  a 
canning-factory.  It  was  on  the  grounds  of  Mr.  Somebody, 
who  owned  the  land  hereabouts,  including  the  run  of  Blarney 
Castle,  and  a  very  barn-like  fabric  where  he  lived  himself. 
Right  in  the  shadow  of  the  old  ruin  this  desecrator  was  put- 
ting up  a  factory ;  and  even  a  portion  of  the  hoary  wall  had 
been  shedded  over  by  the  despoiler,  and  converted  into  a 
carpenter-shop. 

The  castle  was  in  ruins ;  but  the  ver}'  large  keep  was  in 
excellent  condition,  so  far  as  its  walls  were  concerned.  But 
it  was  roofless  and  floorless  :  there  was  simply  the  shell. 
The  castle  had  been  a  fine  building  in  its  day,  as  was  evident 
from  the  stone  mouldings  about  the  few  windows  which  were 
remaining.  It  was  built  partly  in  the  side  of  the  hill,  which 
made  its  present  state  look  even  the  more  dilapidated.  The 
hardy  ivy  had  taken  the  broken  walls  in  hand,  and  was  cov- 
ering them  with  its  sturdy  and  remorseless  vines  and  glossy 
green  leaves.  Up  through  what  might  have  been  the  draw- 
ing-room was  now  growing  a  stout  and  healthy  elm. 

A  door  opened  into  the  keep  from  the  castle.  I  mounted 
up  the  circular  stair  which  was  within  the  wall,  at  the  first 
angle.  It  was  mostly  a  double  wall,  with  apartments  that 
may  have  been  used  for  either  defenders  or  prisoners  con- 
tained therein.  At  the  top  the  wall  was  fully  eight  feet  in 
\vidth.  The  wnds  of  heaven  had  deposited  dust  and  the 
seed  of  grass  and  weeds  on  the  summit ;  and  the  rains  of 
heaven  had  moistened  the  one,  and  caused  the  other  to  take 
root  and  flourish.     The  battlement  to  the  walls  was  curiously 


454  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

constructed  :  it  rested  on  arms  of  stone  built  into  the  wall, 
and  was  sustained  on  the  arms  by  sills  of  stone.  I  don't 
remember  "exactly,  but  I  believe  the  arms  were  about  four 
feet  apart,  and  the  battlement  about  eight  inches  from  the 
main  wall.  In  case  of  besiegers  reaching  the  foot  of  the 
keep,  this  opening  gave  the  defenders  on  the  wall  an  op- 
portunity for  pitching  down  things  objectionable  to  the 
besiegers. 

Should  one  of  these  sills  break,  it  would  be  necessary  to 
take  care  of  it  at  once  ;  or  that  portion  of  the  battlement  it 
sustained  might  drop,  and  irritate  anybody  who  happened  to 
be  under  it.  One  of  those  sills  is  broken,  and  is  now  held 
in  its  place  by  two  bands  of  iron,  running  over  the  top  of  the 
battlement. 

And  this  stone  is  the  Blarney-stone.  In  many  of  the 
pictures  of  it  the  bands  are  represented,  not  as  fulfilling 
their  legitimate  functions,  but  as  aids  to  adventurous  people 
of  matchless  credulity,  in  letting  them  down,  head  first,  to 
reach  the  stone.  But  these  bands  are  close  to  the  stone- 
work ;  and  a  person,  to  kiss  the  stone,  must  crawl  upon  the 
battlement,  over  a  hundred  feet  from  the  ground,  and  be  let 
down  by  his  heels,  held  in  the  hands  of  two  persons  perched 
on  the  narrow  and  dizzy  summit. 

People  have  kissed  it  undoubtedly ;  but  I  would  rather  see 
it  than  hear  tell  of  it,  as  Elihu  Burritt  observes.  For  the 
accommodation  of  people  in  delicate  health,  a  stone  for 
kissing  has  been  located  on  the  ground. 

The  Blarney-stone  found  its  origin  in  some  verses  which 
are  as  familiar  to  you  as  they  arc  to  me.  Tliey  were  wTittcn 
in  a  spirit  of  frolic,  but  were  sincerely  believed  by  a  host  of 
people,  who  flocked  to  the  little  village  of  Blarney  to  see  and 
test  the  virtues  of  the  stone.  The  pressure  became  so  great, 
that  it  was  really  necessary  to  find  a  stone  for  the  purpose  ; 
and  this  one,  distinguished  by  the  bands,  was  selected  by  a 
slirewd  somebody.     He  was  working  for  the  amelioration  of 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  455 

mankind,  sincerely  believing,  without  doubt,  that  every  fresh 
idiot  who  attempted  the  kissing  would  fall  and  break  his 
neck. 

One  verse  of  the  ditty  reads,  — 

"  There  is  a  stone  there, 
That  whoever  kisses. 
Oh !  he  never  misses 

To  grow  eloquent : 
'Tis  he  may  clamber 
To  a  lady's  chamber. 
Or  become  a  member 

Of  Parliament." 

It  became  a  popular  poem ;  and  so  many  flocked  there, 
that  the  name  of  the  little  village  became  a  general  term  for 
doubtful  flattery. 

When  I  left  the  place  it  was  nearly  ten  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  I  having  left  Cork  at  a  very  early  hour.  The  ma- 
sons had  knocked  off  work,  and  were  sitting  on  a  pile  of 
timber  just  outside  the  keep,  eating  their  breakfast,  which 
their  wives,  or  some  of  their  children,  had  brought  them.  It 
consisted  of  bread,  potatoes,  and  tea.  They  seemed  to 
enjoy  it. 


456  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 


CHAPTER  LIV. 

ACROSS  THE   COUNTRY   IN   A   MAIL-CART. 

I  TOOK  the  next  train  from  Blarney,  and  proceeded  on 
the  Dubhn  road  to  a  station  called  Goold's  Cross.  Here 
I  was  to  take  a  mail-car  to  Cashel  to  see  its  famous  rock. 
I  have  not  said  any  thing  of  the  mail-car  routes  in  Ireland ; 
but  they  are  numerous.  It  is  the  jaunting-car  that  runs 
from  railway-stations  to  outlying  villages,  carrying  the  mails 
between  the  two  points.  The  number  of  their  trips  in  the 
week  depends  upon  the  importance  of  the  route.  They 
take  passengers,  where  there  are  any ;  but,  as  the  contract  is 
remunerative  without,  the  fares  are  remarkably  low.  Cashel 
is  twelve  miles  from  Goold's  Cross,  and  the  mail-car  runs 
there  and  back  every  day.  The  fare  there,  and  return,  was 
but  two  shillings  and  sixpence,  or  sixty  cents.  This  is 
cheaper  than  dried  apples,  and  even  more  filling.  I  mounted 
the  cart.  I  was  the  only  passenger.  An  attenuated-looking 
boy  of  nineteen  years  was  the  driver.  An  attenuated-look- 
ing horse,  also  of  nineteen  years,  was  in  the  thills.  A  pair 
of  rope  reins  was  a  conspicuous  feature.  I  knew  I  should 
enjoy  this  ride.  It  was  to  be  twelve  miles,  and  I  hatl  the 
driver  all  to  myself.  How  I  would  pump  him  !  We  kept  up 
an  animated  conversation.  I  talked  of  America,  and  politi- 
cal economy,  and  education,  and  Count  Arnim  ;  and  the 
driver  let  himself  out  on  about  every  thing  that  could  be  ex- 
pressed in  "  Yes,  sir,"  "  No,  sir,"  and  "  I  don't  know,  sir." 


ENGLAND  FROM  A  BACK-WINDOW.       45/ 

He  trotted  the  horse  all  the  way.  But  the  horse  would  have 
trotted  without  any  other  incentive  than  to  have  got  through 
the  dreary  country.  There  were  but  few  trees,  and  less 
cultivated  fields  (mostly  potatoes),  with  here  and  there  a 
squatty  cabin  by  the  wayside ;  and  it  rained  in  a  dreary 
and  desponding  way  all  the  distance.  We  picked  up  a  pas- 
senger here  and  there  on  the  road,  until  our  complement  of 
four  was  full. 

One  of  them  was  a  policeman,  dressed  in  a  black  suit  like 
the  fatigue-dress  of  an  army-officer.  There  are  twenty 
thousand  of  these  police  in  Ireland.  They  are  confined 
principally  to  the  rural  districts,  and  are  equally  distributed 
about  the  country.  They  have  barracks,  and  are  uniformed, 
and  carry  muskets  (when  necessary),  and  are  thoroughly 
drilled.  They  are  the  cork  which  botdes  Fenianism.  There 
are  soldiers  here,  quartered  about  the  country,  as  there  are 
in  Scodand  and  England;  but  these  police,  selected  from 
the  natives,  are  the  trumps.  They  have  put  down  all  the 
Fenian  outbreaks,  and  they  are  the  boys  to  do  it.  Fenianism 
is  not  popular  here  with  the  upper  classes.  I  have  had  the 
pleasure  of  spending  an  evening  with  several  families,  and  I 
have  had  the  thorough  enjoyment  of  the  company  of  numer- 
ous gentlemen  on  the  railway  and  in  hotels ;  but  I  never 
knew  one  of  them  who  was  not  opposed  to  Fenianism.  It 
is  only  in  America  and  in  France  that  Fenianism  stands  a 
living  sight,  —  in  the  former  place,  because  America  is  too 
good-natured  to  interfere  with  anybody ;  and  in  the  latter, 
because  France  is  jealous  of  England. 

There  are  Catholics  and  Protestant  Fenians.  It  is  not  a 
religious  struggle.  It  is  carried  on  for  a  nationality  by  those 
people  who  pin  their  faith  to  legends  and  traditions,  and 
who  believe  that  Ireland  could  grow  into  the  leading  nation 
of  the  world. 

These  policemen  are  for  the  protection  of  ruralists,  as 
well  as  the  country  at  large ;  and  they  are  divided  into  three 


458  F.XGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WIXDOW. 

classes.  The  first  class  receive  seven  dollars  and  fifty  cents 
a  week  ;  the  second,  six  dollars  and  seventy-five  cents  ;  and 
the  third,  six  dollars  and  thirty-seven  cents.  Length  of  ser- 
vice and  efficiency  are  the  conditions  of  promotion. 

We  approached  Cashel,  and  saw  the  rock.  A  local  his- 
torian says  it  is  a  mass  of  stone  thrown  up  above  the  surface 
of  the  earth  by  a  volcano.  It  does  not  strike  the  visitor  as 
being  a  solid  rock  at  all.  It  is  on  a  plain,  however,  and  it 
is  a  considerable  prominence  :  but  the  rock  is  scarcely  visible 
to  the  eye,  as  the  most  of  the  place  is  covered  with  turf; 
and  it  is  only  at  the  steep  sides  that  the  rock  is  at  all  appar- 
ent, and  then  in  but  small  quantities.  I  should  call  it  a  hill 
in  a  plain,  near  to  which  are  hills  of  greater  prominence. 
The  village  is  near  it.  The  mail-car  driver  let  me  down  in 
front  of  a  little  inn.  There  I  got  a  chop  and  some  dcliciously 
boiled  potatoes.  While  they  were  in  preparation  I  borrowed 
an  umbrella,  and  took  a  stroll  up  the  hill. 

Cashel  is  called  the  "  City  of  Kings,"  because,  many  cen- 
turies ago,  the  kings  of  Munster  dwelt  here.  The  stone  on 
which  they  were  crowned  is  still  here  on  the  hill.  They 
sat  on  it  while  being  crowned.  Those  who  do  not  realize 
how  our  forefathers  suffered,  and  the  deprivations  they  were 
called  upon  to  endure,  should  sit  on  a  stone  for  about  an 
hour  and  a  half.     This  would  enlighten  them,  I  fancy. 

I  passed  through  several  straggling  streets  to  the  hill,  and 
up  a  road  to  its  summit.  It  was  raining  quite  hard,  and 
there  was  just  wind  enough  to  make  holding  the  umbrella  an 
interesting  operation. 

At  the  summit  I  passed  around  a  ruined  building  into  an 
open  space  which  might  have  served  as  a  court  in  tlie  dim 
past.  It  looked  very  wet  and  disagreeable  now.  .'\t  one 
side  was  a  sort  of  shed  for  stone-cutting,  and  several  men 
were  at  work  at  that  business.  Tlicn  there  was  the  building 
wi)i(  h  I  came  around,  and  also  a  large  church  ;  and  between 
these  two  were  a  number  of  graves.     The  ground  and  grass 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    RACK-WINDOW.  459 

were  wet,  and  the  wind  swept  tlirongh  the  court  in  disagreea- 
ble gusts. 

They  were  restoring  the  church.  In  the  arch  of  the 
central  tower  was  a  massive  scaffolding ;  and  on  it  were  a 
dozen  men  at  work  with  trowels,  patching  up  the  arch. 
This  building  was  the  most  complete  of  the  several  ruins. 
But  what  on  earth  were  they  restoring  it  for?  If  restored, 
it  ceases  to  be  a  ruin,  and  consequently  loses  three-fifths  of 
its  interest ;  and,  as  a  place  of  worship,  the  idea  is  ridiculous. 
There  it  is  upon  a  hill,  and  out  of  the  way,  and  consequently 
impracticable.  Besides,  the  little  village  of  Cashel  can  boast 
scarcely  four  thousand  people,  and  already  has  more  churches 
than  it  can  occupy.  But  they  are  restoring  it  at  a  considera- 
ble and  unnecessary  expense.     I  don't  envy  them. 

This  cathedral  is  younger  than  the  other  buildings,  dating 
only  from  the  twelfth  century.  It  was  partly  burnt  in  the 
fifteenth  century  by  the  Earl  of  Kildare.  He  afterwards 
regretted  the  deed,  and,  in  his  penitence,  frankly  confessed 
that  he  would  not  have  attempted  to  burn  down  the  sacred 
edifice  had  he  not  been  certain  the  archbishop  was  in  it  at 
the  time.  The  chapel  which  adjoins  it  is  of  stone,  —  walls, 
roof,  and  ceiling ;  and  inside  of  it  are  many  curiously-de- 
signed and  finely-\\TOught  mouldings,  effigies,  figures,  &c.  It 
is  fourteen  hundred  years  old,  and  was  built  by  a  monarch  of 
Ulster.  The  Rock  of  Cashel  has  been  a  good  place  for 
monarchs.  Any  quantity  of  them  have  been  crowned  on 
it,  and  held  court  there,  and  fought  and  schemed.  They 
were  kings ;  but  now  their  very  names  are  not  known. 

St.  Patrick  figured  quite  largely  here.  All  writers  agree 
in  attributing  to  this  saint  superior  sanctity  and  the  purest 
•  benevolence.  He  had  a  school,  and  spent  a  great  part  of 
his  time  here.  But  it  was  at  Armagh,  I  think,  that  he  ban- 
ished the  snakes  and  frogs  from  Ireland.  But  there  are 
really  no  snakes  here,  and  people  come  thousands  of  miles 
to  go  blackberrying  in  Ireland.  I  am  willing  to  make  oath 
to  this  before  any  justice  of  the  peace. 


460  ENGLAND    FROM    A    HACK-WINDOW. 

The  palace  —  But  how  ridiculous  it  is  to  waste  ink  on 
such  shanties  !  I  wandered  about  the  building  for  some  time, 
wailint:^  for  the  man  who  occupied  a  fragment" of  the  palace, 
and  who  had  charge  of  the  ruins,  to  turn  up ;  but  he  didn't 
come.  I  went  out  among  the  graves,  and  found  a  goat  there. 
He  was  much  surprised  to  see  me.  This  led  me  to  put  up 
my  umbrella,  and  run  at  him.  This  tickled  the  goat.  He 
ran  over  the  graves,  and  I  put  after  him.  When  he  got 
across  he  suddenly  changed  his  mind,  and  turned  back.  I 
am  pretty  good  on  my  feet ;  but  I  had  my  legs  fully  occu- 
pied in  getting  into  the  chapel  before  the  goat  did. 

Then  I  left  the  place.  There  were  niins  enough  already 
on  that  hill,  without  my  fooling  around  that  goat. 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  461 


CHAPTER  LV. 

PECULIAR   FEATURES   ESf   DUBLIN. 

THIS  return  to  Dublin  makes  my  third  visit  to  the  city. 
Dubhn  is  a  peri:)lexity  to  me.  But  few  people,  com- 
paratively, have  seen  the  city ;  and  there  are  thousands, 
without  doubt,  who  never  heard  its  name.  But  no  one, 
however  deep  in  the  jungles  of  Africa,  or  far  up  on  the  peaks 
of  Greenland,  can  say  that  he  has  not  heard  of  its  custom- 
house. 

The  custom-house  of  Dublin  has  been  familiar  to  me  by 
name  since  I  left  the  cradle,  and  it  has  been  the  theme  of 
all  orators  and  writers  of  Ireland.  Julius  Caesar  calls  it  the 
Otum  dogi,  signifying  the  temple  of  God. 

The  city  of  Dublin  is,  as  may  be  inferred,  close  to  the 
custom-house.  It  is  a  city  of  some  two  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  inhabitants,  and  is  tolerably  well  laid  out,  with  the 
River  Liffey  running  square  through  the  middle  of  it.  Sack- 
ville  Street,  whose  fame  has  been  carried  over  the  oceans  by 
native  enthusiasts,  is  as  straight  as  a  teetotaler,  and  of  won- 
derful breadth.  It  is  the  handsomest  business-street  I  have 
seen  in  Britain. 

Dublin  is  a  dirty  city  after  a  rain,  and  yet  a  bright-look- 
ing city  at  all  times.  I  have  been  there  in  several  rains,  and 
found  the  quantity  of  mud  to  be  something  remarkable. 
This  is  owing,  I  am  told,  to  an  imperfect  sewerage.  Now, 
if  the  Dublinites  could  only  exchange  their  custom-house 


463  KNGI-AND    FROM    A    IL\CK-\VI\DO\V. 

for  a  good  sewer,  they  would  do  a  stroke  that  would  entitle 
them  to  credit. 

All  the  guide-books  think  a  great  deal  of  Dublin.  They 
can't  come  within  a  lumdrcd  miles  of  it  without  lugging  it 
in.  They  know  that  it  is  utterly  impossible  to  see  this  enor- 
mous city  at  one  time  ;  and  so  they  divide  up  the  sights  into 
several  days,  the  same  as  is  done  in  Ixndon,  Paris,  and  other 
small  cities. 

Now,  I  fail  to  see  any  thing  wonderful  about  Dublin,  either 
as  a  whole  or  in  fragments.  A  man  with  a  pair  of  green 
goggles  might  safely  trust  himself  in  the  midst  of  its  dazzling 
glories,  I  think.  So  we  will  say  no  more  about  Dublin  as  a 
city,  —  although  it  is  finer  than  any  other  in  Ireland,  —  but 
will  talk  of  its  people,  and  their  peculiarities. 

There  is  one  thing  in  all  these  Irish  cities  which  must 
strike  every  American ;  and  that  is  the  absence  of  Irish 
names.  Lspeak  advisedly  when  I  say  Irish  names,  because 
the  strictly  Irish  name  is  quite  frequently  prefixed  by  a  Mc 
or  an  O'.  There  is  not  only  an  absence  of  these,  but  of  the 
others  which  we  in  America  have  determined  to  be  neces- 
sarily Irish.  You  can  see  on  the  signs  such  names  as  John- 
son, Perkins,  Gibbs,  Hooper,  Nichols,  Taylor,  Wells,  Bacon, 
Jackson,  Jennings,  Thompson,  Webb,  Rice,  Goodwin,  and 
of  that  kind.  There  are  twenty  of  them  where  there  is  one 
of  what  we  have  been  used  to  consider  Irish  names. 

And  then  the  people  you  see  in  these  cities  are  so  much 
different  in  looks  from  what  we  have  been  accustomed  to 
see.  The  characteristic  Irish  face  is  not  common,  except, 
among  the  poorer  classes.  Why !  there  are  plenty  of 
Englishmen  who  look  more  like  the  Irish  than  do  these. 
In  fact,  their  faces  are  a  compound  of  pure  English  and 
pure  Scotch,     It  is  dreadfiil  to  think  of! 

But  there  are  more  Irish  in  Dublin  than  there  are  in  New 
York. 

There  was  an  opera-company  from  London  at  the  leading 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    IJACK-WINDOW.  463 

theatre  when  I  was  first  visiting  Dubhn.  I  have  not  taken 
much  to  operas  in  my  time,  owing  to  lack  of  ear,- 1  think. 
Newspaper-men  are  generally  deficient  in  this  respect.  I 
attended  the  opera  in  default  of  any  thing  more  improving, 
such  as  a  ballet  or  necromancy.  The  gallery  was  well 
attended  ;  but  I  was  rather  surprised  at  the  occupants  of  that 
favorite  place.  Most  of  the  men  had  their  coats  off,  and 
hung  to  hooks  in  the  front  of  the  gallery,  which  had  been 
placed  there  by  the  enterprising  managers  for  the  accommo- 
dation of  the  public.  There  the  coats  hung,  in  full  sight  of 
the  audience,  like  a  display  in  a  pawnbroker's  shop.  But 
there  were  not  hooks  for  all  who  desired  them ;  and  many 
were  obliged  to  put  the  coats  over  the  backs  of  the  seats,  or 
sit  on  them.  Some  contented  themselves  with  just  removing 
their  coats ;  others  took  off  the  vest,  or  waistcoat,  as  well ; 
and  a  large  number  removed  their  collars  and  opened  their 
shirt-fronts  (shirts  don't  open  behind  here),  and  even  rolled 
up  their  shirt-sleeves. 

It  was  a  spectacle  for  a  man  from  a  new  country  to  look 
upon  and  ponder  over.  We  Americans  are  a  sort  of  raw, 
half-fed,  savage  race.  We  are  not  to  be  compared  to  the 
advanced  civilization  of  Europe  ;  but  we  don't  attend  operas 
in  our  shirt-sleeves.     Thank  Heaven  for  that ! 

But,  even  without  this  extraordinary  display  of  stripped 
bodies,  the  audience  in  that  gallery  were  conspicuous.  They 
had  come  to  see  the  opera.  Refined  people  were  they. 
They  shrieked  and  yelled  and  howled,  and  sang  songs,  and 
whistled  and  hissed  and  groaned.  They  did  all  this  up  to 
the  rising  of  the  curtain,  and  filled  up  every  intermission  with 
the  uproar.     It  was  a  perfect  Niagara  of  noise. 

As  soon  as  the  music  commenced  they  ceased.  But  then 
that  is  the  business  of  music,  —  to  soothe  the  savage  breast. 
It  had  its  hands  full  on  this  occasion ;  but  it  succeeded. 

Of  the  public  buildings  of  consequence  there  are  the  post- 
ofiice,  bank,  and  Guinness's  breweries.     Oh,  yes  !  and  the 


464  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW, 

custom-house.  Guinness  is  to  the  world  in  the  manufac- 
ture of  stout  what  Bass  is  in  the  construction  of  ale.  On 
the  river  low  flat-boats  may  be  frequently  seen,  with  tiers  of 
barrels  of  stout  upon  them.  We  don't  go  much  for  stout  in 
our  country  ;  but  here  it  is  a  very  common  beverage  ;  and  it 
is  very  good  too,  I  have  been  led  to  understand.  The 
original  Guinness,  father  of  the  present  party,  was  a  very  reli- 
gious brewer.  He  gave  three-quarters  of  a  million  of  dollars 
to  the  restoration  of  the  Dublin  Cathedral  belonging  to  the 
Church  of  Ireland,  and  saw  the  work  done  before  he  died. 
Three  dollars  given  to  charity  or  to  religion  by  a  man  in 
health  is  equivalent  to  six  dollars  from  a  man  in  death.  The 
latter  encourages  others  to  keep  the  poor  and  the  church 
waiting  until  after  they  have  had  time  to  die. 

If  I  can  hurl  a  litde  instruction  now  and  then  into  these 
letters,  I  shall  be  glad  to  do  it. 

The  street  peculiarities  of  Dublin  are  two  in  number. 
One  of  them  is  a  broad  sidewalk  system.  Their  sidewalks 
are  so  broad,  that  the  people  keep  on  them,  and  do  not  spill 
over  into  the  roadway,  as  is  so  common  in  English  and 
Scotch  towns.  The  other  is  apple-peddling  in  the  evening. 
Mostly  women  do  this,  of  course.  The  Irish  like  to  do  busi- 
ness according  to  usage  established  by  age  ;  and,' as  woman 
in  the  first  place  took  naturally  to  apples,  it  is  proper,  they 
think,  that  woman  should  continue  her  interest  in  that  direc- 
tion. And  so  women  in  great  numbers  peddle  apples  in 
Ireland.  I  should  very  much  like  to  know  what  there  is  in  an 
apple  to  cause  an  Irishman  to  gravitate  toward  it.  Even  a 
New-Englander  will  scarcely  eat  the  number  of  apples  that 
an  Irishman  can  make  away  with.  These  people  are  so 
fond  of  them,  that  they  will  not  raise  them.  The  Irish  are 
reputed  to  be  extravagantly  fond  of  pork,  and  the  pig  is 
allotted  a  chair  in  the  home-circle  of  the  poorer  classes.  I 
have  been  into  several  cabins  of  the  poor  in  different  parts 
of  the  country  ;  but  I  saw  no  pigs  therein.     Fowls  have  been 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    HACK-WINnOW.  465 

plenty,  but  pigs  not  at  all.  This  explodes  a  generally-received 
opinion.  Poultry  and  apples  are  what  the  Irish  chiefly  lay 
hold  of;  although  I  can  truly  say  I  have  seen  none  of  the 
lower  classes  eat  of  the  former,  and  very  few  of  the  latter.  I 
imagine  that  both  are  kept  more  for  company  and  show  than 
for  profit.  But  in  the  evening  the  apple-peddlers  are  partic- 
ularly noticeable.  They  are  at  their  stands  until  the  theatres 
close.  The  most  favorite  resort  is  at  the  ends  of  the  Sack- 
ville-street  Bridge.  Here  each  has  a  stand,  containing  from 
ten  apples  to  a  peck,  according  to  the  strength  of  capital  in 
the  concern  ;  and  on  each  stand  is  mounted  a  paper  lantern. 
Some  stands  have  two  of  them.  The  lantern  is  simply  a  cyl- 
inder rudely  put  together.  It  sets  over  the  candle  to  protect 
its  flame  from  the  wind ;  but,  as  there  is  no  organized  effort 
to  secure  the  same  color,  the  effect  is  frequently  picturesque. 
Once  in  a  while  the  lantern  takes  fire  ;  when  the  proprietor, 
with  extraordinary  presence  of  mind,  screams  for  help,  and 
throws  up  her  hands ;  and  the  other  proprietors,  gather 
about,  and  do  likewise  ;  and  some  half-dozen  stands  are  over- 
turned, and  the  several  contents  sadly  mixed,  engendering 
bitter  and  life-long  animosities.  Despite  these  precautions, 
the  lantern  is  generally  a  total  loss,  and  a  new  one  has  to  be 
erected. 

By  coming  over  to  the  old  country,  we  learn  that  many 
of  our  customs  are  copied  from  them.  Our  style  of  all  sorts 
of  conveyances  at  funerals,  corning  pork,  and  boiling  pota- 
toes with  their  jackets  on,  comes  from  the  Irish.  The  Eng- 
lish and  Scotch  do  none  of  these  things.  The  Irish  at 
home  do  not  bend  their  whole  energies  to  the  development 
of  a  funeral-procession,  as  those  in  America  do ;  but  still  it 
is  made  of  fair  proportion. 

Jaunting-cars  are  -added  to  the  display.  It  is  surprising 
the  amount  of  mournfulness  a  jaunting-car  imparts  to  a  fu- 
neral, especially  if  the  driver  should  be  engaged  in  smoking 
a  pipe.     It  is  also  surprising  the  number  of  people  who  can 


466  ENGLAND    FROM    A    RACK-WINDOW. 

get  on  to  a  jaunting-car.  Numbers  of  the  rural  people  come 
into  the  city  on  pleasant  days,  and  get  on  the  jaunting-cars 
for  a  pleasure-ride.  A  car  is  adapted  to  carrying  five  per- 
sons, including  the  driver.  These  are  city  people.  But 
country  folks  can  concentrate,  and  are  fond  of  it.  I  have 
seen  nine  of  them  on  a  single  jaunting-car ;  and  the  driver 
also  managed  to  ride  at  the  same  time. 

I  had  the  pleasure  of  being  in  Dublin  of  a  Sunday.  I 
walked  through  Phoenix  Park,  and  St.  Stephen's  Green,  and 
numerous  streets ;  and  while  I  saw  much  that  was  beautiful 
and  comfortable,  still  nothing  took  hold  of  me  like  the  scene 
that  presented  itself  in  St.  Patrick  Street.  I  had  been  to  see 
St.  Patrick's  (Protestant)  Cathedral.  It  stands  in  a  wretched 
part  of  the  city,  so  poor  and  forlorn,  and  greasy  and  dirty, 
that  I  understand  and  thoroughly  sympathize  with  that 
writer  who  thinks  Mr.  Guinness  would  have  been  more  sensi- 
ble had  he  built  a  new  cathedral  with  the  money  he  de\'Oted 
to  restoring  this.  Its  location  is  so  low,  that  its  floor  is  below 
the  street-level ;  but  then  that  gives  it  that  religious  dampness 
whicli  appears  to  be  so  desirable  to  the  worshipping  Britisher. 
Now,  when  you  look  over  the  elegant  interior  of  this  build- 
ing, and  come  out  and  look  at  the  Baxter-street  surround- 
ings, you  are  surprised.  The  people  who  worship  are  largely 
from  the  aristocracy.  They  come  in  doeskin  and  sealskin, 
through  these  depraved  avenues,  to  the  temple  of  their  God. 
15ut  it  is  a  way  they  have.  This  is  the  cathedral,  —  a  con- 
secrated building;  a  sacred  edifice,  hoarj'  with  age,  moss- 
grown  with  history.  They  would  put  on  their  heavy  cassi- 
meres  and  stiff  satins,  and  wade  through  a  swamp  ten  feet 
deep,  to  reach  this  building.  No  change  in  the  surroundings 
of  their  temple,  however  undesirable,  appears  to  suggest  to 
them  a  change  in  site  for  the  better. 

About  here  St.  Patrick  Street  commences,  and  runs  toward 
the  river.  I  walked  down  it,  and  through  its  continuation, 
called  Nicholas  Street,  to  Christ-church  Cathedral,  —  another 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  467 

aged  Protestant  edifice,  although  with  somewhat  better  sur- 
roundings than  are  enjoyed  by  St.  Patrick's. 

And  it  was  a  street.  It  was  not  straight,  of  course,  or 
broad  ;  but  the  scene  of  activity  within  it  on  this  sabbath  day 
nearly  overpowered  me.  It  was  lined  on  both  sides  with 
second-hand-goods  stores,  meat-markets,  groceries,  and  the 
like,  all  open,  with  sidewalks  filled  with  goods,  and  all  busy, 
disposing  of  cutlets,  gate-hinges,  coffee,  old  kettles,  and  the 
like.  I  went  down  this  active  thoroughfare  in  almost  a  maze, 
hardly  certain  of  any  thing  but  the  smell.  It  was  very  dif- 
ficult to  realize  that  here  were  one  Catholic  and  two  Prot- 
estant cathedrals  in  the  neighborhood.  I  couldn't  help 
but  experience  a  thrill  of  gratitude  to  know  that  there  were 
no  more  cathedrals  in  dangerous  proximity. 

I  had  got  partly  through  Nicholas  Street,  and  somewhat 
beyond  the  busy  stores,  when  I  met  a  most  singular  funeral. 
The  coffin  was  that  of  a  child  about  six  years  old.  It  was 
wrapped  up  in  canvas,  and  the  loose  ends  of  the  canvas 
twisted  about  a  pole.  A  man  had  hold  of  one  end  of  the 
pole,  and  a  boy  of  some  fifteen  years  bore  the  other  end. 
And  so  they  passed  me,  and  went  on  their  ghastly  errand, 
not  a  soul  accompanying  them,  and  none  of  the  trading  and 
bartering  throng  apparently  taking  any  notice  of  them.  It 
was  a  common  sight  to  them,  poor  bodies ;  but  it  touched 
me  up.  A  woman  who  kept  a  butcher-shop  told  me  that  the 
funeral  came  from  an  adjacent  lane.  The  body  in  the  little 
box  was  a  boy,  —  "a  sick,  wake  body,"  explained  the  woman. 
He  was  the  only  son  and  only  child  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Mur- 
phy. For  all  the  years  of  his  little  life  he  had  been  ailing 
and  pining  and  suffering  ;  and  all  those  years  the  poor  parents 
had  tended  him  and  watched  him,  and  begged  God  to  spare 
him.  Every  penny  they  could  take  from  their  scanty  supply 
of  pennies  was  cheerfully,  yea,  gladly,  devoted  to  him. 
And  they  saw  him  die,  saw  the  breath  come  and  go  more 
faintly  moment  by  moment,  the  eyes  grow  dull,  the  lips  turn 


468  EXGLAXn    FROM    A    HACK-WINDOW. 

ashy,  the  hands  less  ncn-ous  in  their  movements ;  and,  when 
he  died,  it  seemed  to  them  as  if  every  Hving  element  in  the 
air  about  them  had  dietl  with  him. 

And  it  was  this  boy  in  a  rough  box,  slung  in  a  hammock 
twisted  to  a  pole,  that  I  met  jostling  along  the  busy  way. 
To  the  whole  world  it  was  a  very  cheap  and  coarse  affair ; 
but  to  the  miserable  and  wretched  pair  in  the  lane  it  was  a 
gold  mine,  a  priceless  treasure.  To  them  it  was  every  thing 
that  money  could  buy,  that  heart  could  wish,  that  brains 
could  conceive.  Around  that  lump  of  clay  were  wTapped 
the  tenderest  chords  of  their  hearts ;  and  every  step  of  the 
homely  pall-bearers  applied  the  tension  to  those  chords,  and 
stretched  them  to  breaking. 

The  only  thing  about  the  whole  affair  which  I  could  see 
to  feel  grateful  for  was,  that  I  had  legs  sufficiently  able- 
bodied  to  take  me  out  of  that  neighborhood,  and  from  the 
sight  of  that  which  could  remind  me  of  the  pitiable  loss. 

There  is  not  much  enjoyment  in  travelling  througli  Ireland, 
unless  you  are  worth  a  million  dollars.  I  do  not  refer  to 
this  particular  case,  of  course ;  but  seeing  distress,  and  not 
being  able  to  relieve  it,  is  an  agony  which  tends  to  suffoca- 
tion. 

On  the  other  hand,  there  is  a  pleasure  in  travelling  through 
these  countries,  to  become  acquainted  with  the  people.  It 
demolishes  false  ideas,  and  erases  i:)rcjutlices.  That  poverty 
abounds  in  most  of  the  rural  sections  of  Ireland,  the  j^eople 
freely  admit.  The  direct  cause  of  it  seems  to  lie  with  tiie 
miserable  policy  of  the  landlords.  In  conversation  with  an 
Irish  gentleman  on  the  subject  (and  I  wish  to  state  here 
that  I  have  taken  all  the  information  used  in  these  letters 
from  the  Irish  only),  he  strongly  condemned  the  landlords. 
Knowing  him  to  be  a  thorough  Catholic,  and  knowing,  too, 
how  much  the  most  of  us  are  influenced  by  our  religion  in 
our  judgments,  I  asked  him  if  these  obnoxious  landlords 
were  Catholic,  or   Protestant.     "  Both,"  said  he.     "  I  make 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  469 

no  distinction  whatever  in  this  respect.  Both  Catholic  and 
Protestant  landlords  are  alike  to  blame  for  the  wretched 
state  of  our  agricultural  sections." 

Speaking  of  religion  reminds  me  that  I  have  noticed  in 
'  my  travels  here  that  lack  of  divine  animosity  toward  each 
other  that  I  was  led  to  believe  existed.  The-  Protestant 
bishop  of  Tuam  employs  Catholics.  A  curate  of  the  Church 
of  Ireland  stoutly  refuted  reflections  upon  some  of  his 
Catholic  neighbors,  and  told  me  that  he  was  treated  as 
courteously  by  Catholic  residents  of  the  community  as  by 
his  Protestant  flock. 

One  of  the  jolliest  evenings  I  have  enjoyed  in  my  life  was 
with  a  Catholic  family  in  Connaught ;  and  yet  two  of  the 
five  gentlemen  guests  I  met  there  were  Orangemc7i.  I 
regret  having  to  refer  to  these  incidents,  because  of  the 
humiliating  inference  that  Christian  charity  is  so  rare  as  to 
require  special  mention. 

As  I  travelled  for  some  time  among  the  people,  I  may 
consistently  claim  to  know  a  little  something  about  them, 
and  so  gladly  bear  witness,  that  for  hospitality,  good  nature, 
and  courtesy,  the  people  of  Ireland  are  at  the  front. 

Speaking  of  courtesy  reminds  me  of  a  remark  recently 
made  by  an  i\merican  lady  who  had  travelled  with  her  two 
children  through  Europe.  She  said  she  met  with  more  rude- 
ness going  from  New  York  to  Boston,  on  her  return,  than 
she  had  encountered  in  all  her  travels  abroad. 

I  have  no  doubt  of  it. 

In  conclusion,  I  must  tell  you  an  illustrative  incident. 
While  in  Dublin,  I  had  occasion  to  make  two  purchases  of 
books.  At  either  place  the  required  volume  was  not  in 
stock  ;  but  they  offered  to  send  it  to  me  in  England.  I  ten- 
dered the  payment ;  but  in  each  case  it  was  declined  until 
after  I  had  received  the  purchase.  And  I  received  the  l^ooks 
in  a  few  days.  I  was  a  perfect  stranger  to  the  parties,  and 
they  had  to  run  the  risk  of  receiving  payment,     I  well  know 


470  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

that  I  have  an  open  and  ingenuous  face  ;  but  still  their  tnist 
in  my  word  was,  under  the  circumstances,  somewhat  amazing. 
I  told  an  P^nglish  friend  of  the  incident,  and  he  said, — 
"  That  is  nothing ;  although  it  would  be  remarkable  if 
you  met  the  same  experience  in  England  or  Scotland.  But 
to  place  trust  in  an  Irishman  is  equivalent  to  a  performance 
of  the  duty.  You  wanted  to  pay  for  the  books  before  receiv- 
ing them,  and  their  characteristic  gallantry  would  not  permit 
them  to  submit  you  to  a  risk  that  they  could  themselves 
take." 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW.  47 1 


CHAPTER  LVI. 

IN    WHICH    THE    WRITER   TAKES    LEAVE   OF    HIS    READERS    AND    A 
GOOD   SHARE   OF  HIMSELF. 

I  AM  not  going  to  give  a  history  of  France  :  I  am  merely- 
going  to  devote  this  last  chapter  to  telling  how  I  went 
there. 

There  are  several  routes  to  Paris  from  London.  One  of 
them  is  by  the  London,  Chatham,  and  Dover  Railway,  to  Do- 
ver, and  thence  by  steamer  to  Calais,  —  an  hour  and  a  half's 
sail.  Another  is  by  the  same  rail  to  Dover,  and  thence  by 
steamer  to  Boulogne,  —  two  or  three  hours'  sail.  The  third 
is  to  New  Haven,  and  thence  across  the  channel  to  Dieppe, 
—  seven  or  eight  hours'  ride. 

The  first-named  is  the  most  popular,  because  of  its  short 
sea-route  ;  and  is  the  dearest,  being  fifty  per  cent  over  the 
New-Haven  and  Dieppe  route. 

This  channel  is  a  great  deal  like  a  sound  heard  in  the  still- 
ness of  the  night.  It  only  needs  examination  to  show  that 
it  doesn't  amount  to  any  thing.  The  Irish  Sea  is  fully  as 
grievous  to  the  nerve  and  stomach  of  the  traveller  as  is 
the  English  Channel.  But  people  will  cross  that,  and  sail  the 
broad  Atlantic,  with  hardly  a  qualm,  who  will  quail  before  the 
channel.  Men  remember  a  trip  across  it,  made  twenty  years 
ago,  who  cannot  for  the  life  of  them  tell  where  last  Sunday's 
text  was.  I  don't  know  as  anybody  has  attempted  a  chemi- 
cal analysis  of  this  feeling  •  but  in  my  judgment  it  results 


472       ENGLAND  FROM  A  BACK-WINDOW. 

from  a  reputation  acquired  in  the  time  of  little  and  imperfect 
boats,  and  carefully  fostered  by  the  short-route  company  for 
obvious  reasons.  If  I  can  make  you  see  this  trip  as  I  saw 
it,  you  will  arrive,  undoubtedly,  at  the  same  conclusion. 

The  ride  from  Ludgate-hill  Station  to  Dover  was  not  in 
any  way  remarkable,  barring  the  cold.  It  was  in  the  middle 
of  November,  early  in  the  day,  and  on  leather  cushions  ;  and 
I  had  to  jump  up  and  down  eight  hundred  times  to  keep 
comfortable. 

At  Dover  we  ran  out  on  a  pier ;  and,  getting  down  from  tlie 
train,  I  looked  back  over  the  little  city  and  to  the  left  of  it, 
and  saw  more  chalk  in  that  one  glance  than  there  are  cows 
in  all  America.  It  was  a  high  pier,  —  so  high,  that  the  top 
of  the  steamer's  funnel  hardly  came  to  the  top  of  it.  The 
steamer  itself  was  bobbing  about  with  the  lieavy  swells,  —  the 
steamer  that  was  to  take  me  to  France. 

It  was  not  a  particularly  large  boat,  —  nothing  like  those 
powerful  structures  which  face  and  beat  down  the  great 
waves  of  the  Irish  Sea  between  Kingstown  and  Holyhead,  — 
but  it  was  a  fine-looking  vessel,  of  about  half  the  capacity 
of  a  Brooklyn  ferry-boat.  The  deck  was  open  nearly  the 
.whole  way,  covered  at  the  centre  by  the  bridge  from  one 
wheel-bo.x  to  the  other.  The  first-class  passengers  were  aft, 
with  a  cabin  below :  the  second-class  were  at  the  fore,  with 
no  cabin  at  all.  All  the  luggage  was  piled  in  the  bow,  and 
covered  with  a  tarpaulin.  There  was  not  in  this  boat  one- 
half  the  accommodation  as  in  the  little  sound  steamers  ply- 
ing from  New  York  to  Norwalk ;  and  yet  it  was  the  shortest 
and  most  popular  route  from  England  to  France  and  the 
Continent. 

There  were  the  custom-house  officers  in  attendance  ;  and, 
as  there  is  more  travel  between  England  anil  France  than 
between  any  other  two  countries,  the  ofiicers  of  customs  are 
generally  known  and  dreaded.  Quiet  people  who  stay  at 
home  have  fallen  into  the    belief  that   travellers   are   liars. 


ENGLAND    FROM    A    liACK-WIXDOW.  473 

Travellers  are  ;  but  they  don't  lie  one-half  as  hard  to  home 
people  as  they  do  to  each  other.  I  don't  know  why  they  do 
it :  perhaps  they  can't  help  it. 

In  an  incredibly  short  space  of  time  the  luggage  was  piled 
away,  and  the  boat  left.  We  ran  down  along  the  enormous 
cliffs  for  a  way,  and  then  pointed  out  to  sea.  We  had  twenty 
miles  to  run,  and  were  to  do  it  in  an  hour  and  twenty  minutes. 

As  soon  as  we  got  under  way,  the  first-class  passengers 
came  generally  to  the  front  of  the  vessel,  and  many  of  the 
second-class  passengers  kept  under  the  bridge.  I  stood  on 
a  forward  hatch,  smoking,  and  talking  with  several  others,  for 
a  half-hour,  and  then  I  went  back  under  the  bridge ;  and 
the  secret  of  the  dread  with  which  this  trip  is  held  then  came 
out. 

Nearly  everybody  was  on  deck,  and  many  of  them  were 
under  the  bridge.  One  of  the  last  number,  a  French  lady, 
seriously  intoxicated,  was  doubled  up  in  a  heap  close  to  the 
opening  for  the  machinery,  where  she  could  obtain  a  fair  and 
uninterrupted  swig  at  the  mingled  steam  and  oil  smells  with 
every  breath  she  drew.  Other  people  were  doubled  up  about 
this  opening  ;  and  a  number  were  seated  on  the  side-benches, 
staring  with  fixed  melancholy  at  the  deck. 

But  this  is  the  secret. 

Several  men  in  tarry  clothes  were  moving  among  this  de- 
jected throng  with  earthen  basins.  Some  one  has  said  (in- 
terested in  a  projected  railroad),  that,  the  more  facilities  are 
furnished  the  public  to  travel,  the  more  it  will  travel.  The 
same  remark  applies  in  this  case.  The  more  facilities  the 
human  stomach  has  to  move,  the  more  it  will  move.  These 
tarry-clothed  men  were  kept  busy.  The  vessel  was  rolling 
nicely,  and  the  motion  imparted  to  the  stomach  made  it 
hanker  for  sympathy.  A  man  might  not  have  been  exactly 
satisfied  that  he  wanted  to  vomit ;  but,  when  he  saw  one  of 
those  suggestive  basins  going  by,  he  took  a  decided  stand 
in  the  matter  at  once,  and,  beckoning  to  the  bearer,  went 


474  ENGLAND    FROM    A    BACK-WINDOW. 

wliooi)ing  over  it  immediately.  The  French  lady  kept  two 
men  engaged  pretty  much  all  of  the  time.  The  exertion  she 
was  making  had  sobered  her  considerably ;  and  being  con- 
vinced that  she  was  going  to  die  within  an  hour,  and  afraid 
that  her  watch  was  slow,  she  cared  precious  little  for  appear- 
ances. 

She  devoted  her  undivided  attention  to  the  basin.  At 
times  she  would  moan  for  two  minutes  in  a  low,  steady  tone  ; 
then  again  she  would  break  out  into  a  howl,  or  go  off  into  a 
paroxysm  of  whoops.  \V' henever  she  struck  the  latter,  a  visi- 
ble activity  could  be  noticed  in  the  basins.  One  woman, 
who  looked  like  the  wife  of  a  Kansas  granger,  was  sitting 
on  a  bench,  leaning  back,  with  hands  clasped,  as  if  think- 
ing of  some  well-remembered  picture  of  a  dead  horse,  when 
an  attentive  conductor  of  the  bowl  passed  the  vessel  inquir- 
ingly to  her.  With  eyes  partly  opened  she  caught  a  glimpse 
of  its  appearance,  and,  waving  her  hand,  languidly  protested, 
"  No,  thank  you  !  I  couldn't  eat  a  mouthful  if  I  should  die 
for  it."     And  I  sincerely  believed  her. 

The  farther  we  got  out  to  sea,  the  more  the  bowls  and 
tarry-clothed  men  increased.  The  deck  was  covered  with 
them.  I  noticed  that  one  expression  did  for  all.  Every- 
body said  "  Wh-hoop  !  "  wlien  he  got  a  basin  before  him  ; 
and  those  who  didn't  stand  so  strictly  on  ceremony  leaned 
over  the  side  of  the  vessel,  and  said  "  Wh-hoop  !  " 

While  I  was  making  these  observations,  I  stood  at  this 
opening  over  the  machinery,  and  took  in  the  oil  and  steam 
vapors  as  they  wafted  upward.  Pretty  soon  I  became  aware 
that  a  peculiar  sensation  was  stirring  inside  of  me  for  a  foot- 
hold. It  seemed  as  if  my  stomach  was  gradually  assuming 
the  shape  of  a  compact  ball,  and  that  the  cigar  was  losing, 
in  a  measure,  its  satisfying  moisture.  Just  as  my  throat  ap- 
peared to  have  been  let  out  for  a  castor-oil  funnel  to  a  man 
who  was  api)arently  doing  a  good  business,  the  French 
woman  started  a  fresh  and  unusually  good  invoice.     Then  1 


ENC.LANl)    FROM    A    DACK-WINDOW.  475 

bolted  for  the  side  of  the  vessel,  and  "  Wh-hooped  "  myself. 
I  was  surprised  at  the  amount  of  sentiment  and  satisfaction 
contained  in  that  simple  expression.  I  threw  my  whole 
weight  into  it,  and  I  suppose  I  was  heard  in  the  uttermost 
recesses  of  the  boat.  I  was  engaged  some  five  minutes ; 
and,  when  I  got  through,  a  gentleman  who  took  an  interest 
in  me  presented  me  with  a  blank  card,  on  which  he  had 
carefully  inscribed  the  record  I  made  in  that  five  minutes. 

This  was  the  record  :  — 

"  Wh-hoop  ! — whoooo  —  whoooo — who-oop  !  Oh,  dear  ! 
—  —  whoooo  —  whoooo  —  whooo-oooo-oop  !  Mercy  on 
me  !  Wh-hoop  !  wh-hoop  !  whoooo-oop  !  Heav  —  wh- 
hoop  !  "  (Pause  of  a  moment.)  "Oo-oo-oo-oo-ooh  —  wh- 
hoop  !  —  wh-hoop  !  —  wh-hoop  !  " 

That  is  the  way  a  man  talks  when  he  is  looking  over  the 
side  of  a  boat,  and  taking  aim  at  something  with  his  liver. 

Learning  that  I  had  got  through,  the  officers  of  the  vessel 
prepared  to  bring  it  into  port. 


Franklin  Press:  Rand,  Avery,  &"  Co.,  Boston. 


Voyage  of  the  Paper  Canoe; 

A  Geographical  Journey  of  2,500  Miles,  from  Quebec 
to  the  Gulf  of  Mexico, 

By  NATHANIEL  H.  BISHOP, 

Author  of"  A  Thotisand  Miles'  Walk  across  South  A  mertca."    Embellished  with 
sj>irited  illustrations,  and  ten  maps  of  the  route. 

8vo.    Cloth,  $2.50. 


"  A  fascinating  narrative  of  a  very  venturesome  journey.  In  following 
his  adventures  during  this  unique  and  daring  voyage,  we  have  found 
the  province  of  the  reviewer  quite  lost  in  the  pleasure  of  perusal.  Geo- 
graphical observations  and  bits  of  science  and  history  add  to  the  value 
of  the  volume ;  and  incidents,  amusing  or  thrilling,  colloquies  with 
'  crackers '  and  negroes,  and  glimpses  of  Southern  life  and  character 
among  the  high  and  the  low,  enhance  the  interest  of  the  narrative,  and 
lend  it  life  and  piquancy.  The  story  of  fictitious  travels  and  adventures 
could  hardly  be  more  exciting,  or  hold  the  reader's  attention  more 
closely,  while  the  knowledge  that  the  whole  narrative  is  the  transcript 
of  actual  experience  deepens  the  interest.  The  author's  style  is  modest, 
direct,  and  fluent.  There  is  no  attempt  at  fine  writing,  but  the  story  is 
exceedingly  well  told.  There  are  a  dozen  or  more  wood-engravings, 
illustrating  the  most  noteworthy  incidents  of  the  trip.  There  are,  in 
addition,  ten  maps,  showing  the  minutest  details  of  the  journey,  from 
beginning  to  end.  These  have  been  made  for  the  author  by  the  United- 
States  Coast-Survey  Bureau,  and  are  probably  the  most  complete  and 
accurate  maps  of  the  Atlantic  coast  anywhere  obtainable.  They  are 
engraved  with  exquisite  delicacy."  —  Boston  Journal. 


"  The  perils  encountered  by  the  author  are  related  with  a  charming 
modesty,  but  are  of  thrilling  interest.  The  '  Voyage  of  the  Paper 
Canoe  '  is  suited  to  all  classes  of  readers.  The  scientific  man  will  find 
many  interesting  facts ;  the  geographical,  the  only  complete  account  of 
the  interior  coast-water  route  ever  published ;  the  naturalist,  various 
items  of  interest ;  the  student  of  character,  new  and  peculiar  types ;  the 
canoeist,  a  true  and  faithful  guide  from  the  Gulf  of  St.  Lawrence  to  the 
Gulf  of  Mexico."  —  Sunday  Herald. 


Sold  by  all  Booksellers  and  Newsdealers,  and  sent  by  mail,  post- 
paid, on  receipt  of  price. 

LEE  &  SHEPARD,   Publishers,   Boston. 


THE 


FALL  OF  DAMASCUS. 

AN   HISTORICAL   NOVEL. 
BY     CHARLES    WELLS     RUSSELL. 

i2mo.     Cloth.     $1.50. 


"A  book  of  no  common  order.  The  scene,  in  the  eternal  city  of  Damascus  ; 
the  time,  during  the  reign  of  Ileraclius  ;  the  personages,  Roman,  Greek, 
Syrian,  and  Saracen ;  the  mingling  of  solid  fact  and  exuberant  fancy,  —  all  go 
to  make  up  a  romance  as  different  as  one  can  easily  imagine  from  the  conven- 
tional and  familiar  modern  novel.  The  opening  chapter  introduces  us  at  once 
to  the  very  presence  of  the  persons  of  the  author's  creation,  who  assume  a 
reality  to  the  mind  rarely  possessed  by  the  children  of  the  brain,  and  to  scenes 
so  vividly  depicted,  that  one  feels  as  if  walking  with  the  hero  along  the  marble 
pavements  and  among  the  rose-bowers  of  the  Eastern  paradise.  The  descrip- 
tion is  rich,  sensuous.  Oriental.  Characters  are  drawn  with  sharp,  clear  indi- 
viduality, and  the  interest  awakened  in  them  is  sure  to  be  retained.  Indeed, 
'  The  Fall  of  Damascus  '  is 

A  BOOK  HARD  TO  PUT  DOWN,  ONCE  TAKEN  UP, 

till  the  covers  close  on  its  last  page.  The  style  is  clear,  pure,  and  direct,  the 
use  of  lan^'uage  unexceptionable,  and  the  dramatic  spirit  more  than  ordinarily 
marked."  —  Boston  Post. 

THIS    IS    A    STORY    OF    RARE    BEAUTY. 

"  It  has  received  the  highest  praise  from  literap>-  reviewers,  and  will  evidently 
take  rank  with  the  best  class  of  fiction.  Th(>se  who  delight  in  something  to 
read  that  is  elevated  above  the  trashy  novel  of  the  day  should  invest."  — 
Nashua  Telegraph.  

LEE  «Sj  SHEPARD,  Publishers    -    -    -    Boston. 


THERE   SHE   BLOWS; 

OR,  THE  LOG  OF  THE  ARETHUSA. 

By  Capt.  W.  H.  Macy  of  Nantucket.     i6mo.     Cloth. 
Illustrated.     $1.50. 


"  This  contains  a  series  of  illustrated  sketches  of  actual  life  on  the 
ocean,  made  up  of  real  incidents,  and  introducing  for  the  most  part 
real  characters.  The  author  of  the  book  is  an  old  sea-captain  of  Nan- 
tucket, who  tells  his  numerous  stories,  usually  called  'yarns,'  in  lively 
and  expressive  language,  somewhat  as  an  intelligent  old  sailor  talks. 
His  tales  of  adventures  on  his  whaling  voyages,  his  experiences  with 
whales  and  South  Sea  Island  savages,  and  numerous  other  things,  are 
well  told.  There  is  nothing  tedious  about  it.  Like  most  sea-captains 
of  his  character,  he  knows  how  to  spin  an  agreeable  '  yarn,'  and  to  give 
and  take  a  joke."  —  N.  O.  Picayune. 

'"Theie  She  Blows,'  is  a  rattling,  lively,  rollicking  tale  of  the  'deep 
blue  sea,'  and  the  wonderful  adventures  that  befall  those  who  skim  the 
breezy  waves,  and  look  upon  strange  lands  and  stranger  people.  The 
anecdotes  of  whalemen,  and  the  startling  scenes  and  incidents  con- 
nected with  the  whale-fishery,  are  told  in  a  manner  to  please  the  young- 
sters, whilst  they  impart  useful  information." —  C/i.  Ijidex,  Atlanta,  Ga. 

"  The  book  is  a  narrative  of  thrilling  adventures  and  hair-breadth 
escapes,  and  gives  one  a  very  full  description  and  knowledge  of  the 
capture  of  whales,  and,  in  fact,  the  whole  process  in  the  production  of 
whale-oil,  from  the  first  sight  of  the  whale  until  the  oil  is  stowed  away 
in  the  ship.  The  volume  also  sketches  the  life  and  experiences  aboard 
the  ship,  and  is  exciting  enough  to  satisfy  the  veriest  boy."  —  Contribu' 
tor,  Boston. 

ADRIFT  IN  THE  ICE-FIELDS. 

By  Capt.  C.  W.  HALL,  aiittior  of  "The  Great  Bonanza." 

i2mo.     Illustrated.    $1.50. 

"The  author,  Capt.  Charles  W.  Hall,  has  done  his  work  well.  The 
narrative  chronicles  the  adventures  of  a  party  during  the  early  spring, 
while  shooting  sea-fowl  on  the  sea-ice  by  day,  and  the  stories  by  which 
they  whiled  away  their  long  evenings,  or  their  share  in  the  social  life 
of  their  neighbors.  Later  it  describes  the  breaking-up  of  the  ice,  by 
which  the  hunters  were  forced  into  involuntary  wandering,  and  recounts 
their  perilous  adventures,  the  hardships  to  which  they  were  reduced, 
their  final  rescue  by  a  sealing-steamer,  and  the  curious  life  on  board 
such  a  vessel.  Incident  to  the  work  is  an  accurate  description  of  the 
ice-fields  of  the  Gulf  of  St.  Lawrence,  and  some  picturesque  studies  of 
life  among  people  of  whom  the  most  of  us  know  very  little.  It  is  very 
graphically  illustrated.'   ~Demoresfs  Monthly. 


FROM  HAND  TO  MOUTH, 

UY 

MISS  A.  M.  DOUGLAS, 

AUTHOR   OF 

In  Trust,         Stephen  Dane,  Nelly  Kinnard's  Kingdom, 

Claudia,  Sydnie  Adriance,  Home  Nook, 

Kathie  Stories,  etc. 

12mo.      Clotli.      ffil.SO. 


"This  volume,  like  all  the  works  of  this  author,  is  well  written  and 
intensely  interesting,  though  there  is  nothing  sensational  or  strained  in 
the  plot,  scenes,  or  characters.  It  is  a  story  of  homely,  every-day  life, 
just  such  as  any  of  us  may  have  seen;  and  herein  lies  without  doubt 
no  little  of  the  charm  with  which  the  gifted  author  has  invested  her 
story.  It  is  a  book  that  will  be  popular,  and  will  survive  the  passing 
hour.  —  Bridgeport  Farmer.    

"Another  of  Miss  Douglas's  pure  and  sensible  stories,  fully  equal 
to  '  Nelly  Kinnard's  Kingdom,'  to  say  which  is  no  slight  praise.  We 
know  of  no  American  author  who  excels  Miss  Douglas  in  her  partic- 
ular line,  —  stories  of  every-day  American  home-life.  We  are  glad  to 
learn  that  the  sale  of  her  books  is  steadily  on  the  increase.  This  fact 
shows  that  she  is  appreciated,  and  speaks  well  for  the  taste  of  our 
story-reading  public.  —  Christian  Leader. 


"The  charm  of  the  story  is  the  perfectly  natural  and  homelike  air 
which  pervades  it.  The  young  ladies  are  not  stilted  and  shown  off  in 
their  '  company  manners,'  but  are  just  jolly  home-girls,  such  as  we  like 
to  find,  and  can  find  any  day.  There  is  real  satisfaction  in  reading  this 
book,  from  the  fact  that  we  can  so  readily  '  take  it  home '  to  our- 
selves. —  Portland  Argus.         

"  Amanda  Douglas  is  one  of  the  favorite  authors  among  American 
novel-readers.  She  writes  in  a  free,  fresh,  and  natural  way,  and  her 
characters  are  never  (Overdrawn."  —  Mane/tester  Mirror. 


SOLD    BY   all   booksellers   AND   NEWS-DEALERS. 

LEE    &    SHEPARD,    PUBLISHERS, 

BOSTOIsT. 


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